Another Chance
by Yarah
Summary: After he is brought back from death, James Norrington works to reconcile the pain of his past with his hope for a future. Leave it to the late Cutler Beckett's younger brother, a piece of eight, and his best friend's sister to complicate matters. N/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This story is just a little something that popped into my head one night. It takes place after AWE, and for all intents and purposes in my story, I'm going to have to ask you to just disregard OST for now. As far as I can tell right now, the plot of this story will have nothing to do with the fourth movie. Also, I realize that it is probably a little inaccurate that Tia Dalma/Calypso would bring Norrington back from the Locker, but I couldn't really think of another way to do it. And I just had to bring the lovely Admiral back from the dead! So sorry about that little discrepancy. Otherwise, enjoy the story!

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, I do not own _Pirates of the Caribbean _or its characters. The only thing I do own is the OC I will be introducing very soon.

Chapter One

The first breath James drew when he was back in the world of the living burnt his chest, and he was taken by an uncontrollable fit of coughing. But still the feeling was sweet, like a deep gulp of air after being trapped underwater. Every limb in his body was achy and stiff, but with much effort, he pulled a hand to his forehead and wiped away beads of sweat or water. When he tried to open his eyes his lids were heavy, but he succeeded in letting in two small cracks of blurry light and scenery. As his vision slowly focused and cleared, he realized he had no idea where he was. He lay back on the hard wooden floor with a groan.

"Ah, so you be awake."

James shot up and had to stifle another groan of pain. "What's going on here?" he demanded as his eyes searched the shadowy room.

"Would dat be anyway to talk to de woman who saved your life?"

His eyes finally lighted on a dark skinned, dreadlocked woman who sat in a chair on the other side of the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she regarded him with such a cool, hard stare that he had to brace himself from shrinking away. He made his voice steady and firm. "Forgive me if I seem brash, my lady, but I simply must know who you are and how I came to be here!"

She smiled at him, revealing a set of blackened and rotted teeth, and stood from her chair. "I 'ave been known by many names, James Norrington." She turned her back to him and touched one of the many relics sitting on a shelf. "And I 'ave taken many forms." She sat an eyeless, grinning skull back in its place and turned to him. "But you may call me Tia Dalma. As I am now."

"Thank you, Miss Dalma," James replied, taking great care with his words and tone, "but, if I may, I still do now know how it is that…."

"I be gettin' to dat!" She cut him off with a firm slash of her hand. "Do you not remember anyt'ing dat 'as 'appened to you?"

James furrowed his brow and rubbed his jaw in frustration. He felt many days worth of stubble, and when he pulled his hand back, he could see that his palms were stained with dirt and grime. He slowly brought both hands to his face as memory dawned on him. "I had taken command of The Dutchman for Lord Beckett, and… I died. I died." He dropped his hands and stared at Tia Dalma. "I was dead. I was in the Locker."

He shivered at that last thought. Throughout his career in the British Navy, he had never been a very superstitious sailor. He had never been one to put much stock in tales of mermaids, sea monsters, or other such folly. But recently he had battled cursed skeleton pirates and captured the heart of Davy Jones. Still, he hadn't believed the stories about Davy Jones' Locker, that damned place that swallowed up souls lost at sea. He couldn't measure his time there in a matter of days. It could've been a blink or an eternity. He never wanted to go back.

He swallowed. "If I was in… Davy Jones' Locker… how is it that I came to be here?"

She smiled at him again, and he suppressed a shudder. "I 'ave my ways. And my reasons." She bent close to him and brushed her fingers through his loose, damp, dark brown locks. "Many t'ings you 'ave been, James Norrington, but I sensed your time 'ere was not done. You 'ave a purpose."

James stood and scrubbed his face hard with frustration. He slammed his fist against the wall and growled. "What the bloody hell does that even mean?" He balled his fingers into fists and squeezed until he could feel his nails etching angry half moons into his palms. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "Forgive me, Miss Dalma, but you must understand how confusing this is for me. In fact, I would be very much obliged if you could be a little less… cryptic."

Tia Dalma met his words with a flat stare. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she continued, "De Pirate Brethren 'ave separated, alone and squabbling among demselves! De Navy is rallying for another attack. It is not my custom take part in de wars of men. I will still be. Always." She paused, and her face contorted into an ugly mask of rage. "But dey have no respect for de sea!"

James could feel the power in her voice, and he could almost see roiling, gray waves in her dark eyes. He was too cowed to question her further, and he was afraid of where her answers might lead.

The tempest behind her eyes subsided, and she went on. "I do not know what your part in dis be, but you 'ave a part. Dis is a second chance." She looked deep into his soul. "Mind which side you choose."

An hour later, James was in a dingy, adrift in the ocean. Tia Dalma had given him a small amount of supplies including a compass. "So much good this does me!" he shouted to no one, tossing the compass onto the dingy's wooden floor. "Where am I supposed to go?"

The hopelessness of his situation washed over him in full force. He was glad to be out of the Locker, but he longed that space between, where there was just… nothing. No pain. No worry. No regret. Really, he had met a nearly perfect end. Not every man was sent to his death with the kiss of a beautiful woman on his lips.

Elizabeth.

He had no idea where she was or if she was okay. He didn't know if she was even alive. James had asked Tia about her, but she was just as maddening in her answer then as she had been with everything else.

"Her fate is no longer entwined with yours."

Those brief seconds when his lips had mingled with her had been wonderful. It was as if nothing else was real. There was no Cutler Beckett to take orders from. No Davy Jones. No Brethren Court. It was just Elizabeth and him, and he had been able to imagine what his life might have been like if she had returned his love.

His reverie was broken when he looked up and saw a ship on the horizon. He stood p in the dingy and began to swing and flap his coat in the wind. The ship was rather far off, but he hoped that the motion and the shine of the gold brocade would catch a watchful crew member's eye.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Happy New Years, everyone! Special thanks to elanordaughterofeowyn and Norrieo for reviewing. I appreciate it **EDIT:**__Norrieo helpfully corrected me on Gillette's first name, so I have changed 'Andrew' to 'Phillip.'

Chapter Two

Rosalie Gillette stood at the bow of the HMS Redemption. The late afternoon sun sent a horrible glare into her eyes, but it was far too damp and stuffy in her cramped quarters below decks. Plus the fresh air helped stave off bouts of seasickness.

"Better get inside, Rose. This sun is blazing, and you know how easily you burn."

Rosalie rolled her eyes at her brother. "Come now, Phillip. You're beginning to sound like Mother."

Phillip laughed. "You better get used to it, dear sister. Mother has had no one to scold all these years that you've been in London. She'll want to make up for lost time."

Rosalie groaned. "Oh, good God you're right!"

They both dissolved into giggles, and she took her brother's arm and let him lead her on a stroll around the ship's deck. Despite their long separation while Rosalie lived in London with family, the two siblings had remained close. He wrote to her often, and she replied with stories about their cousins and her life there. It was Phillip who had requested she return to Port Royal in celebration of his recent promotion to Admiral. Rosalie had accepted right away. After nine years in London, she was eager to return to her home. Not to mention, the fact that she was twenty-five with absolutely no romantic prospects, and her London relations were beginning to whisper about her being an old maid. It was an issue her brother loved to tease her about.

"I wonder if Port Royal is really in need of another spinster?" he pondered.

She slapped him on the shoulder. "Shut it! Besides, _you're _not married, and you're much older than I am."

"Seven years is not 'much older.' And thirty-two is hardly dead and buried, Rose."

"It might as well be. If twenty-on is an old maid."

Phillip chuckled again. "Well I'm only teasing you. I shouldn't care if you never get married. It's Mother and Isabel you have to worry about. If I'm not mistaken they already have a number of eligible bachelors in mind."

"Oh, no." Isabel was their twenty-nine year old sister, and like all good young ladies she had married promptly at seventeen and began producing babies the very next year. "What poor soul are they trying to set me up with?"

"I certainly wouldn't call him a 'poor soul.' You're a lovely young woman, and any reasonable man should be glad to have you."

"Look at you trying to be a sweet older brother for once." She gave him a hard look. "You're distracting me. Who?"

He raised his eyebrows and took a breath. "Well it seems that they have set their sights rather high. Their number one prospect is Lord Bartholomew Beckett, I believe."

"Beckett," Rosalie mused, "that does sound familiar."

"You most likely knew of his older brother, Cutler Beckett. He took command of Port Royal on behalf of the King and the East India Trading Company. He led the armada against the Pirate Brethren in the war against piracy."

"Oh, yes! I did hear about all that!" Rosalie exclaimed, "And there was quite a scandal about the late Governor Swann's daughter. Mother wrote to me of it."

"Yes, well you probably heard of Cutler Beckett's demise, then. He had no children, so his brother inherited his estate and titles. Now he is in Port Royal preparing our fleets for another attack on the pirates. That is why I must get back so quickly."

"Mother has set her sights high," Rosalie scoffed, "a Lord."

"Well, not too high actually," Phillip replied as he drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "You are the Admiral's sister."

She laughed. "Quite right, my Lord." She feigned a bow.

They had made it back to their starting position at the bow of the ship, and the sun was sinking rapidly. Rosalie gazed out at the plethora of oranges, pinks, and purples as they met the blue waters. "Even so," she murmured, "I wish they would just leave well enough alone."

"That's not likely with those two."

"No, I suppose…." Rosalie trailed off. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She scanned the waves. Suddenly, she gripped her brother's arm. "Oh my God, Phillip, look!"

A worn and ragged looking man wobbled in a tiny dingy off the starboard side of the ship. He was swinging what seemed to be a tattered coat around his head and waving his other arm furiously.

"All hands on deck!" Phillip shouted, springing into action. "All hands on deck! Man overboard!"

The crew acted quickly and efficiently, and the adrift man was hoisted onto the ship only ten minutes later. Rosalie's first impression of him was that he looked dirty and tired. Then she realized that he must be a member, or deserter, of the British Royal Navy. Despite the stains and tears, the coat was unmistakable up close. But as he stood up to face the crew, something strange happened. Her brother and a few of the other men froze. She could see how Phillip's face drained of color, and she watched, crinkling her eyebrows in confusion, as his mouth dropped open.

"James?" he finally breathed. "Is that you?"

The man nodded wearily. He was panting with the exertion of flagging them down, and seemed as lost for words as her brother was. A moment passed, and the stranger stared the men in silence. Then Phillip pulled him into an embrace. "James!" he exclaimed with something like a laugh. "Everyone thinks you're dead!" He pulled back and gave the other man a serious look. "I was there," he continued. "I saw with my own eyes when Lord Beckett received news of your murder. How can this be?"

The man wiped a hand across his forehead. "It's a long story, Phillip," he replied in a soft but deep voice, "and one I'd rather discuss privately."

Rosalie was more confused than ever, and she was not known for her patience. She placed a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Phillip?" she asked. "Phillip, what's going on?"

Phillip blinked and seemed to remember her for the first time since the man had been hoisted aboard the ship. "Rosalie," he said, pulling her forward, "this is my good friend, James Norrington. James this is my sister, Rosalie Gillette. I do not believe the two of you have been introduced."

Norrington managed a small smile and a shaky bow. "Miss Gillette, it is a pleasure to meet you. Although, I wish circumstances could have been better."

Rosalie curtsied. "Thank you, Mr. Norrington. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. But my brother has forgotten his manners in all this excitement. Hang formalities! You must be exhausted and hungry."

"Oh, yes, yes!" Phillip exclaimed, jerking as if out of a trance. "Forgive me, James. Please, let me take you to my quarters, and you can get cleaned up. Then, if you're not too tired, I will have our dinner brought to my quarters."

Rosalie watched as her brother helped Norrington below decks. She had dined with Phillip every night on their crossing from England, and there was no way she was going to let him shut her out this time. She knew he would try. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that brothers must keep their little sisters from anything remotely interesting, but she was not easily evaded. At least, she didn't think so. She made her way to her own cabin. Rosalie was determined to be ready and waiting at Phillip's quarters by the time dinner was served.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **It has been a long while since I have written a PotC fanfiction, and I have a confession to make. I'm struggling a little bit with writing James' character. I think it might be because I have never written him when he is not really in a position of power, and I'm just not sure if my rendition of him is convincing or accurate enough. What do you think? Of course, I love reviews of praise, but I take constructive criticism as well Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Three

"What happened, James?" Gillette was asking him. "Don't think I'm not overjoyed to see you. I am! And it's all the men can talk about. It's just… well, this is quite a shock."

James nodded and smiled wearily. When Phillip led him down to the cabin sometime earlier, James could tell that his former subordinate and good friend did not want to wait for answers. He had stood in the doorway shuffling his feet and stalling for time. The second time Phillip told him: "Um… yes, and there's the wash basin in the corner there," James unceremoniously ushered him out.

"I am greatly indebted to you for your generosity," he had told him. "But please indulge me a bit further and allow me to wash and change before you batter me with questions."

That had subdued the other man, and James was left to refresh himself in peace. He sighed with comfort and gratitude the first time he brought the cloth dipped in cool, clean water to his face. It felt like he hadn't been clean in ages. By the time he was done, the water was brown, and he felt much more like himself. He also realized his hunger for the first time. When Phillip had mentioned dinner on deck, James felt his stomach turn. He had spent hours in the dingy shouting and waving before the HMS Redemption had actually come close enough to notice him, and all he wanted to do was get out of the hot sun and into a comfortable bed. Now he knew that would have to wait until he got some food on his stomach.

He dressed in the clean white shirt and trousers Phillip had left hanging over a chair for him. Luckily, Phillip was relatively his size, and the clothes fit almost perfectly. He brushed and tied back his hair and put his own dirty boots back on. Looking into the mirror, he almost saw the man he once was. If his coat hadn't been muddy, torn, and stained with blood, he could've put it on and been Admiral Norrington again. As he stared into the reflection of his own weary hazel eyes, he heard Tia Dalma's voice again.

_"Be careful which side you choose."_

"James?" Gillette was staring at him expectantly. They were sitting at a table in the cabin waiting for their dinner, and James realized he hadn't yet answered the man's question. He put his head in his hands. "I don't really know what there is to tell you, Phillip." He wasn't exactly sure why, but he didn't think that it would be wise to reveal the mystical details of his miraculous return. "When Bill Turner stabbed me I must have lost consciousness because what happened next is a mystery to me as well. I suppose Davy Jones and his crew tossed me overboard, and I drifted. I remember nothing before I was rescued by a native woman and taken back to her home. She nursed me there until I was well enough to request a means to try and find my way back to Port Royal."

Phillip hadn't advanced through naval ranks by being a stupid man, and James could read the skepticism on his face. Still, in light of the information Tia Dalma had given him and her advice, James simply could not entrust the true story and his supposed purpose to the man who held his former title. Even if that man was a dear friend.

"Forgive me for interrogating you," Phillip continued after a moment's pause, "It's just that when you spend nearly two months believing someone is dead their return comes as quite a surprise."

James managed a laugh. "I apologize for shocking you, Phillip. I had no idea you would be commanding the ship I flagged down."

Phillip joined in his laughter. "I'm glad of it, I assure you."

James peered at Phillip with a hint of envy. "Congratulations are in order, I see. It seems you have been promoted."

Phillip fidgeted with a button on his coat and looked down at the table. "I'm sorry, James. We all thought…."

"I know. I know," James interrupted. "There's no need to be uncomfortable. I do not wish to contest your position as admiral. I am very glad the station was given to someone worthy."

"You do not want to be reinstated?"

"Not at all." James thought he was mostly speaking the truth. While a part of him hungered for the recognition and glory of a high station, he did not feel that it was a proper way to begin his second chance at life.

Phillip relaxed back into his seat with an easy chuckle. "I almost wish you would take the title from me." He grew serious. "We are preparing another attack on the pirates, and I feel you would be more suited to the task than I."

Now James looked away. He remembered the time when he had been the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean. Who knew then that he would become I pirate himself? Or that he would die under the power of a cruel and overzealous madman. This life would not be the same. "So Cutler Beckett still desires to rid the seas of every man who calls himself pirate?"

Phillip looked startled. "Cutler Beckett? No, Cutler Beckett died when we were defeated at Shipwreck Cove. It is his younger brother, Bartholomew, who has now taken command of the East India Trading Company."

"Oh." James raised his eyebrows. He certainly would not mourn the death of the man who caused so much death, pain, and suffering. "This brother, what's he like?"

Phillip shrugged. "Young, but he seems to possess a zeal to rival that of his late brother. More than that I cannot say."

James knew that Phillip was not one to speak ill of his superiors, but he did not have high hopes that this Bartholomew would be much better than his brother.

A knock on the door interrupted the two men. "Ah," Phillip said, rising from his chair, "that must be our supper."

James didn't watch as Phillip went to the door, but he turned in his chair when he heard him growl, "What? Urgh, wait! Rose!"

James watched as Miss Gillette pushed past her red faced brother with a supper tray in her hands. "I ran into Mr. Taylor on my way down," she said. "So I offered to carry our tray and spare him the trouble."

"Rose," Phillip warned through gritted teeth, "I didn't tell Mr. Taylor to bring dinner for three."

Miss Gillette sat the tray down on the table and wiped her hand on the front of her light green dress. "I know," she answered as she began to set out plates, cups, and cutlery, "so it's a good thing that I went to the galley to inform him. How rude of you to forget our guest."

Phillip rolled his eyes. "It wasn't our guest that I had forgotten."

She seemed to ignore him, but James thought he saw the corner of her mouth turn up in a smirk. "Milk and sugar in your tea, Mr. Norrington?"

"Um… neither. Thank you, Miss Gillette." He glanced at Phillip. The other man was still red in the face, but when he met James' eyes he only sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well are you two going to sit?" Miss Gillette turned to them with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised. She smiled with satisfaction when Phillip moved to pull her seat out for her, and James almost smiled with her.

The bread was slightly stale and the soup was bland, but James felt like it was his first meal. He guessed, in a way, it was. He knew that Phillip and his sister were looking at him askance, but he didn't care. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation anyway.

"So, Mr. Norrington, what's your story?" Miss Gillette asked as she tucked a stray strand of strawberry blonde her back into her bun and leaned toward him.

"Rose!" Phillip scolded, "don't be so forward!"

"It's alright," James assured him. He thought he saw the trace of a blush spreading across Miss Gillette's freckled cheeks, and he did not wish to make her uncomfortable. "It's only expected that your sister would be intrigued after the commotion I caused on decks earlier." He stared down at his nearly empty bowl of soup and thought about her question. There were so many answers he could give. He was an accomplished sailor, a man to be feared and respected. He was once a pirate. He was a man in love with a woman who might be dead and didn't love him anyway. James cleared his throat. He would settle for the most painless version of his unlucky story. "Well, Miss Gillette, I have been a sailor my whole life. I met your brother in the naval academy, and I have been happy to serve with him for many years since."

Phillip smiled around a crust of bread. "James was a few years ahead of me in school, and I always thought of him as a sort of mentor."

James nodded. "Yes, and Phillip served under me when I was commodore, then Admiral Norrington. I was wounded and cast overboard by pirates when I was on assignment for Cutler Beckett, but a native woman found me and nursed me back to health. Now, well, here I am."

Miss Gillette stared at him, mouth agape. She nodded slowly and smiled. "That's quite a story."

"Yes, well." _You don't know the half of it_, he thought. James met her green eyes. He tried to return her smile but couldn't manage it. Thinking of his past was too hard. He looked away from her quickly. "Forgive me if I am not very entertaining company tonight. I am not quite myself."

Miss Gillette looked concerned, but James couldn't bear the sympathy on her face. He had seen that look before. Elizabeth had worn it when she chose William Turner over him, and again when she had seen him at his lowest in Tortuga.

"Of course," Phillip said, "we know you have been through a lot. Would you like me to show you to the cabin I have had prepared for you? It should be ready."

James was already standing. "I would appreciate it." Phillip and his sister stood too. James turned to her. "Miss Gillette, I apologize again. I hope you don't hold this rudeness against me."

She smiled at him, and he realized for the first time that evening that she was pretty. Her features were not as regal and refined as Elizabeth's but, the freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks gave her an innocent, youthful look. And her hair was the color of a wheat field caught in the light of a setting sun. Yes, he supposed if he had passed her on the street years ago he would've looked twice, but now it took all evening for him to even notice that she was an attractive woman. "I understand, Mr. Norrington," she told him. "You have had a long day."

He was thankful to have some time to himself to think when Phillip finally led him to his cabin. But he couldn't resist grabbing Phillip's arm and asking him a question before he went in. "Phillip," he said, and his voice felt thick and a little hoarse. "Have you heard any news about… about Elizabeth Swann? Anything at all?"

James' heart sank as Phillip shook his head. "I'm sorry, James. We think she survived the battle, but no one has heard from her or Turner since." James rested his forehead on the doorframe and closed his eyes. Phillip clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I know how you felt about her, but she chose her path. If she is happy with her life now then that is all you can ask for."

James nodded, but he wanted so much more. "Thank you, Phillip. For everything. I'm going to get some sleep."

Hours later James tossed in sweaty, tangled sheets, unable to rest. He couldn't stop contemplating what his next step would be, how he would fulfill this purpose Tia Dalma had given him. He couldn't stop thinking about Elizabeth. He wondered where she was and what she was doing. But those thoughts led to painful conclusions. After ten more minutes of staring at the ceiling, James resolved to get up. He dressed hastily and left his cabin.

On deck, the salty breeze hit him right in the face, and he took a deep long breath. The cool air felt nice, and he thought a walk might help him relax enough to get some sleep. A few minutes into his walk, James came upon a group of crew members up late dicing and drinking. "Admiral Norrington!" one choked out, startled, as James approached them.

He held up his hands. "As you were men. No need to stand on ceremony with me anymore. Gillette is your admiral now. I intend to formally resign my position when we return to Port Royal."

There was some murmuring, but for the most part, the men returned to their business. James watched them dicing for a few minutes and was about to leave when the man to his right passed him a bottle. "Have a drink, Sir."

James stared at the bottle. In his mind he was taken back to his day in Tortuga. He had spent most of his time there in a drunken stupor. It was the lowest point of his life, and when it was over, he had sworn to never touch a bottle of rum again in his life.

He almost passed the bottle back to the man beside him. Then he saw Elizabeth on that last night. He remembered the way her lips felt, and he remembered that he would never feel them again.

James brought the bottle to his lips and took a long swig.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **So sorry it has taken me forever to get this chapter up, you guys! I've been trying to update this in a timely manner, but a bunch of other things have come up in my life recently. A computer malfunction, the start of the spring semester, and an internship opportunity have made me a very busy girl here lately. In fact, the only reason I have been able to update this today is because my boss had very little for me to do at my internship, so I have sneakily taken a kind of personal writing day (shh don't tell anyone). I am going to continue to try and update pretty regularly, but if I'm slow again please understand and forgive me . Also, thanks again to everyone who is reviewing! For those of you who aren't: please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! I looooooovvvve reviews! They make me smile . Now, after that longwinded author's note, on with the story!

Chapter Four

Rosalie also had trouble sleeping that night after dinner with her brother and Mr. Norrington. For hours she lay on her back watching shadows flickering in the dim candlelight on her ceiling. Phillip was cross with her for intruding on what was supposed to be a private dinner with his old friend, but it was not the first time she had incurred his anger, and she knew it would not be the last. No, she lost sleep simply because she could not stop contemplating the mystery that had presented itself in the form of a mysterious stranger. If she had been presumed dead for months only to miraculously return to her friends and family, she would relish the attention and wouldn't leave out a single heroic detail. Norrington, on the other hand, glossed over a story full of holes and seemed sullen and distant despite his general politeness. He was an enigma. She could've sworn she had seen him trying to hide a smile at Phillip's bewilderment when she barged in at dinner, but for the rest of the evening he gulped down his soup and stared at nothing in particular with sad, empty eyes.

She rolled onto her stomach, fervently praying the view of the back wall would prove more stimulating than that of the ceiling. It did not. She sighed and began to trace her fingertips along the fine etches in the wooden paneling, watching how the colors faded from light to dark mahogany in some places. "Oh, bloody…!" She trailed off and brought her stinging fingertip to her lips to soothe her pain. A splinter had lodged itself in her forefinger. "I hate this ship," she grumbled as she squeezed and squinted down at the tiny wound.

She hopped out of her bed and stumbled as she tried to catch her balance. She spent most of the day trying to get used to walking while the ship rocked beneath her. Phillip had told her she would grow accustomed to the motion after a few days. Well, Phillip had lied. Every time she got out of bed she had to work to right herself. Sometimes she saw the sailors look at her with raised eyebrows or snicker behind their hands. For the most part, Rosalie tried to ignore them, but a few mornings ago, after another nearly sleepless night, one unfortunate young deckhand had laughed a little too loudly. She had thrown her hat and called him a "bloody twit." After that, Rosalie suspected her brother might've had a talk with his crew because the men were more careful with their whispers. He had also had a talk with her about controlling her temper.

Rosalie typically followed the conventions of social order, but a woman could only stand so much ridicule before she just had to throw something. Likewise, she could only stand so much boredom before she had to take a walk. Phillip had expressly forbid her to go above decks when he or his second in command could not be readily available to come to her aid should any of the men act less than gentlemanly. He would almost certainly have an apoplectic fit if he knew she was planning to go for a walk at night without a chaperone. But what big brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She skipped over to the chair that she had tossed her dross over after dinner and quickly slipped it back on. She glanced in the mirror and saw that her strawberry blonde hair was in quite a state of disarray. She hoped to avoid running into anyone on deck, but just in case, she smoothed her unkempt locks back into a messy bun. Satisfied, she grabbed her candle and quietly slipped out of the room. She tiptoed carefully and peered around every corner as she made her way to the main deck. She knew if she ran into her brother or one of his lieutenants she would be sent back to her room before she could get a breath of fresh air.

Rosalie breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the stars and a small square of starlit sky. At this hour of night she would easily be able to steal a few moments of just watching the waves undisturbed. Hopefully after that she would be able to go back to her bed and sleep. But as her barefoot touched the first step leading up to the deck, a shadow fell over her upturned face, blocking her view of the stars.

"Elizabeth?" slurred a voice from the top of the steps.

"Mr. Norrington?" Rosalie asked, tentatively taking a step up.

"Oh," he mumbled, "Never mind."

"Mr. Norrington," Rosalie repeated, reaching out a concerned hand. "Are you ill?"

In the darkness she saw him shakily put a head to his head. He leaned against the wall and looked as if he might stumble to his knees without the support. "Miss… Miss Gillette," he finally mumbled. His jaw worked, and she thought he was going to say something more. But he just pushed past her with a slurred: "forgive me." Then he disappeared down the dark hallway. Rosalie stood on the stairs until his heavy footsteps dwindled into silence. She had caught a whiff of what she thought was rum as he brushed by her, and she wondered whether or not her brother's trusted mentor was really the man Phillip remembered.

Her mind drifted back to the question that had plagued her most of the night. Why did James Norrington seem so different? He was unlike other men she had met, and he was certainly nothing like the man she had imagined from conversations with her brother. She pondered this as she leaned over the side of the ship and peered down into the darkness below. Phillip had mentioned Mr. Norrington frequently in his letters, both as a friend and a superior. Rosalie had gotten the impression that he was a generally good man, devoted to his duties in the navy. While she had never met him, she imagined that he was a serious and straight laced member of society, someone who played by the rules. Although he was certainly serious, from what she had seen of him, in person he didn't strike her as a typical law abiding citizen. The thought both intrigued and worried her. Aside from her refusal to marry just for the sake of being married, Rosalie followed the typical rules of society. Sometimes she didn't like it. The fact that her brother would berate her if she was caught on deck without a chaperone drove her mad. But for the most part, she knew society upheld certain rules for a reason, and that comforted her. So she was at once excited and unnerved by a man who didn't meet her expectations. A spray of sea foam caught her in the face and distracted Rosalie from her thoughts. Her reverie broken, a yawn overtook her and she realized with lazy delight that she could finally sleep.

The next morning, Rosalie awoke slowly and not at all pleasantly. She lay still under the covers, willing herself to fall back to sleep. As she did this, she could feel the ship moving. It was worse than usual, and she had to breathe deeply through her nose to try and settle her stomach. "Oh, no!" she gulped and lurched out of bed with her hand clapped over her mouth. She stumbled over to the wash basin and braced her hands against the sides. She stood perfectly still, but she could feel the ship rocking beneath her. Every toss sent her stomach tumbling inside her, and she cursed her brother for talking her into making this voyage.

She was sure it took her twice as long to get dressed. Once she fell flat on her backside while trying to lace up her dress. When she finally stumbled up to the main deck, she saw that the sky was gray, and the wind was churning up turbulent waves. It was not going to be a good day. The ship lurched suddenly, and Rosalie tripped on the top step. She was not known for her coordination. Before she moved to London, her mother made her practice walking with poise and balance. It was rare that she didn't break a vase or run into a table. So walking on deck during a storm, even a slight one, was a challenge. Still, the smell of salt on the cool blasts of wind remedied her seasickness. For the first time all morning she didn't have to think about controlling her stomach.

Rosalie strolled around the deck watching the men at work. As much as she hated the way the ship tossed and rolled, she enjoyed watching the crew. It was beautiful to see all of them working together toward a common goal: to bring the Redemption into Port Royal safely. Suddenly, a fierce wave sent her toppling into a railing.

"Woah, Rose!" Her brother had seen her latest blunder and was walking briskly toward her from where he had stood giving orders to a couple of crew members in the rigging. "Be more careful! If you do that again, you could very well go overboard. I plan to reach Port Royal within the week. I don't want to lose any more time fishing you out of the ocean."

"Very funny," Rosalie replied with an eye roll, "I can take care of myself. Thank you."

"Not likely." He furrowed his brow and looked up at the gray sky. "In fact, I want you below decks. This storm is going to break soon, and it will be far too dangerous up here. I need my men focused on keeping this ship on course and unharmed, not trying to keep you from flying overboard."

She pouted. "Phillip, I won't be able to survive trapped below decks until we reach Port Royal."

He laughed. "Hopefully, it will be a brief storm."

"I will never get on a ship again." She pointed a finger at him. "I mean it. Don't ever try and make me change my mind."

He looked at her seriously. "Just do what I say, Rose. I don't want to see you up here again." He turned without waiting for her reply.

Rosalie stuck her tongue out at his back. "Yes, Mother." Then she added, "as soon as I'm good and ready."

At that moment the heavy gray clouds began to spit sharp needles of cold rain down on the deck of the HMS Redemption. Rosalie scowled up at the sky and winced at the drops that peppered her face. She was torn between her desire to defy Phillip and her hatred of being cold, wet, and tossed about. She saw the crew men with their hardened faces and able hands, the way they acted as if the rain was not beginning to pour down on them. She crossed her arms and drew her lips into a narrow line. She would stay, at least for now.

And then she saw James Norrington.

"Batten down those hatches, men!"

He was standing not far from Phillip, shouting orders at the crew. For the first time since they had met, Rosalie could see what he must have been like as an admiral. His back was straight, and he paced around the deck with sure, confident steps. There was sternness but also an assurance in his hazel eyes, and the crew rallied behind him despite the fact he was no longer their leader. Rosalie couldn't reconcile this man with the staggering, rum soaked one she had met last night.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that another wave set her off balance, and she stumbled. She couldn't right her footing, and she knew how ridiculous she must've looked, arms flailing, mouth agape. Suddenly, she collided with something hard… and looked up into the face of Mr. Norrington. "Woah!" he said. His eyebrows were raised, and a look of surprise was registered on his face. He had grabbed her by her forearms when she crashed into his chest, and he tried to steady her.

"Oh…. Um…. Oh, my," she chattered as she pulled herself away from him. She pushed a rain slicked strand of hair out of her eye and shifted on her feet. "Oh, my goodness. I… I apologize, Mr. Norrington. I believe I finally had my sea legs, but this storm…." She trailed off uncomfortably and looked up at him again. Sodden, dark locks of hair clung to his forehead and the planes of his face. Rosalie cleared her throat and looked down.

"It's alright, Miss Gillette," he finally replied. "But you shouldn't be up here. It's not safe. Your brother…."

"Yes, yes, I know what Phillip would say," she interrupted irritably, smoothing her soaked dress and crossing her arms. "He's already said it."

The corner of Norrington's mouth turned up in a smirk. "What I was going to say was: your brother is staring at you with a look of murder in his eyes."

"Ah, I see." She cringed and glanced back at Phillip, who was indeed red-faced and glaring. When Rosalie looked back at Norrington all the humor had disappeared from his face. She noticed his eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"You must go below decks, Miss Gillette," he said firmly. "That's an order."

She stared at him hard for a moment, wondering if she could get away with ignoring him as she had her brother. The look in his eyes told her no. He seemed to discern the rebellion behind her eyes because before she had a chance to move either way, he grasped her arm, gently but firmly, and steered her in the direction of the stairs.

The remainder of their voyage lasted four days. Luckily the storm had turned out to be a brief one, and the crew and ship made it through unscathed. Now, early on the morning of the fourth day everyone man on deck was bustling, readying the ship to make port. James stood with Phillip at the helm of the ship, looking off towards the ever nearing Port Royal.

"Are you alright?" Phillip asked, turning away from the horizon to look at him.

James kept his eyes on the shore. He could make out the docks, busy with commerce. Since Phillip and the crew of the _Redemption_ had found him adrift at sea and brought him aboard, he had been itching to make it back to Port Royal. He felt that that was where many of his answers lay. Surely someone would know what had happened to Elizabeth. Maybe she would even be there, though he doubted that. And he thought that surely when he arrived in Port Royal again he would find some clue as to what he was supposed to do with this second chance he had been given.

But as the ship drew closer to its destination, all James felt was more lost.

This was the place where he had spent years rising through the ranks of the navy, the place he had been awarded the title of commodore then admiral. Now he was planning on giving up his title again. How could he? He felt that it was what needed to be done if the mysterious Tia Dalma was to be trusted and everything she said about another war with the pirates was true. He had chosen the right side of the last war too late and had paid dearly for it. He could not make the same mistake again. But….

James' hand drew to his hip, to where only months ago he could've fingered the hilt of his finely crafted sword. It was a symbol of his station, but now that was gone too. _Who am I?_ he thought, both desperately craving the answer and fearing it at the same time. He no longer thought the answers lay in Port Royal, but he didn't know where to go from there or even how. How on earth could he even contact Jack Sparrow or another of the pirate brethren if he wanted to? What was he supposed to do?

"Yes," James finally answered, "everything is fine. Just… odd, I guess. Coming back home."

Phillip opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the sounds of rustling fabric and someone huffing and puffing toward them. Both men turned to see Rosalie approaching them. One of her small, pale hands worked to secure a large, rather cumbersome, hat to her head. With the other, she pulled at and fidgeted with the back of her dress. It was the most intricate frock James had seen her wear during their whole trip. It reminded him slightly of the one Elizabeth had worn to the ceremony when he was awarded the rank of commodore. Miss Gillette looked just as uncomfortable.

"Blast!" she exclaimed tossing her hands in the air, then quickly reaching to recover her hat. "Blast! Blast! Blast! How on earth is one supposed to move like this? Phillip, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get something like this on without a dressing maid?"

"Rose!" A blush colored Phillip's cheeks, and he gestured wordlessly towards James.

"Oh!" she gasped when she saw that she and Phillip were not alone. Then she giggled somewhat nervously. "I apologize for my impropriety, Mr. Norrington. But come now, you can't always expect a girl to act on ceremony with her brother." She tugged emphatically at her dress again. "Especially not when wear one of these accursed…!"

"That's enough, Rose!"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at him and then looked again to James. "He can be such a prig."

At this point, Phillip began to splutter, searching for words with which to berate his sister. He was so worked up that James couldn't resist laughing out loud. It felt nice. James supposed he could have never been described as a carefree man. Even as a child, he was mindful of others' needs and his individual duties. But there was a time before his life began to fall apart when he laughed frequently and smiled more often than that. He had always been stern when it came to responsibilities, but he enjoyed a joke among friends as often as anyone else might. Laughing with Miss Gillette made him feel like a part of something positive again, if only for a brief moment.

He cleared his throat and smiled again. "I'm sorry, Phillip," he said, "but I must agree that Miss Gillette has a point."

Phillip began to scowl at him, but he looked from James to his sister and realized that he was outnumbered. He sighed and shook his head. "What was I thinking trying to uphold society's rules of propriety?" he muttered.

"Hang propriety," Rosalie said. "It's why I have to dress up like this to meet Mother. I don't want to hear her talk of how I should be properly dressed." She fidgeted with a bit of lace detail on the brim of her hat and bit her lip. "But do you think this will appease her, Phillip?" she asked. "You know how she is!"

"When I met your mother she seemed to be a lovely woman," James said.

"Ah." Rosalie wagged her finger. "But you see that is because you are an eligible bachelor of a fine background, not her spinster daughter. It makes all the difference. Phillip?"

"Yes, yes, Rose," Phillip said impatiently, "you look positively radiant, a regular belle of the ball. Now, if you will excuse me, we are about to make port, and I have more important things to attend to than to critique your fashion sense."

"Well, I never," Rosalie huffed, watching her brother walk away. She turned back towards James, but the easy grin he had worn only moments ago had been replaced by a more somber look of contemplation.

The words "eligible bachelor" had struck a chord with him. It was not a title he valued or wanted. It only reminded him of what he had lacked to accomplish in his life. In their younger years, most men revel in a time of "sowing wild oats," and while James had experienced some of that during his time as a young sailor, he never relished it like many of his comrades did. Some of his peers had bragged about their conquests, only half remembered young barmaids and servant girls, over drinks, but James had never been as proud of those nights. His boy's thirst for pleasures of the flesh and simply a warm female body had dissipated all too quickly, only to be replaced by a man's desires for a companion and family. He couldn't carelessly go through life bedding women whose names he wouldn't remember weeks later. Often he had wished he could. Most men like that end up marrying for convenience and continuing their escapades with little ramifications. It would have been an easier life, without the heartbreak of falling in love with someone unattainable.

"So what will you do in Port Royal, if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Norrington?" Rosalie was looking at him with a curious look in her eyes. She had avoided him since their run in on the deck during the storm, but whenever he caught her looking at him, he got the feeling she was trying to figure him out. It was like he was a puzzle that she needed to solve.

James sighed. "I honestly don't know."

"If it's not too bold of me to say," Rosalie began cautiously, "Why not keep your title and continue your position with the navy and the East India Trading Company." She continued hurriedly before he could interrupt. "My brother is a very capable man, and he deserves his position. But you are his mentor, and I know he would be glad to have your guidance again." She looked up at him expectantly.

"It's not quite that simple," he said, looking away from her searching green eyes. "I don't know that I am the right man for the title anymore. I think resignation is the best choice for me right now. I have enough that I can manage until I have re-settled into my life at Port Royal. Or wherever I go from here."

Rosalie looked unsatisfied. "I don't quite know what to make of you, Mr. Norrington."

He coughed. "I don't think I know what you mean," he said defensively.

Now, her freckled cheeks turned pink, and she turned away. "Forgive me. That was too bold. I… I simply am… intrigued…. Well, it's just that…." She stuttered nervously, growing redder by the second, and James felt sorry for embarrassing her. He also felt a fondness for her rising within him. She seemed so self-assured and outspoken to him, and honestly a little difficult. Today was not the first time during their voyage he had caught himself somewhat pitying Phillip for her antics, humorous though they may have been. But now he was reminded that she was also young and a little unsure, despite whatever act she put on. And like him, she was returning to a home where there may not be a place for her.

He opened his mouth to apologize and soothe her worries, but Gillette rushed over to them to announce that they should prepare to get off the ship as they would be making port in mere minutes. When James turned back around to where Rosalie had been standing, she was already hurrying off in the other direction.

**A/N: **Ok, hope you guys liked this chapter! Again, I am so sorry that it took me forever to update. I promise to try and be more consistent. Especially if you leave lots of reviews *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! But I know there are more people who are reading but aren't reviewing, so if that's you then please leave a review. I would really appreciate it . On another note, I'm planning to get the main plot moving soon, so please bear with me. I've just wanted to keep it believable and not rush things. Now, on with the story!

**Chapter Five**

With her feet on blessed dry land once again, Rosalie felt like a new woman, despite her blunder with Mr. Norrington on the ship. _What on earth possessed me to say such a thing? _It took many years and many lectures from her mother and other respectable ladies to finally teach Rosalie some restraint with her tongue. Still, even though she was far too old to do such things, sometimes if a thought stayed in her head to long, it just found its way right out of her mouth. She shook her head. "Bloody fool."

She had been astutely avoiding Norrington since then. It was difficult at first. He had stayed on board with Phillip, helping with the final necessities of the ship. It had been all Rosalie could do not to jump ship as soon as they were within sight of the dock, so she had had some time while she waited by their coach when she didn't have to worry about running into him. But now as they were pushing though the crowds at the docks, she was careful to keep Phillip between them and to keep her eyes looking in another direction. She was just thankful that she wouldn't have to see him again anytime soon unless she chose to.

"Do you have a place to go, James?" Phillip asked as they stood by the coach. Rosalie listened intently but kept her eyes firmly her shoes.

"I suppose I will inquire after the fate of my home and land," Norrington answered. "I don't know if any of my relations in England have had time to come claim my estate." Rosalie glanced up long enough to see him shrug. "If they have, I will have to take the necessary steps to right matters. If they haven't, then I will return to my home as if none of this had ever happened and decide where to go from there."

"Well," Phillip said, "I know some relaxation and a dinner that is not ship's fare would do me well. I'm sure they would you too. Come dine with our family, James. Mother will already have a fine meal prepared in anticipation of Rosalie's homecoming. It will be no trouble to set an extra place."

At this Rosalie jerked her head up. _No_. It was bad enough that she would have to endure the endless criticisms of her mother and sister throughout dinner. Now Phillip would add the complication of her awkwardness around Mr. Norrington. She would absolutely _murder _her brother for this.

"I couldn't impose," James began, shaking his head, and Rosalie felt a glimmer of hope. "And I must attend to the affairs of my estate right away."

"I will send one of the servants to Lord Beckett with a letter explaining the circumstances and requesting information," Phillip insisted. "See there is no reason to decline."

Rosalie glared at him. Oh, she _would _murder him.

Then the inevitable happened, and James finally accepted Phillip's invitation. "Well, a nice meal does sound pleasing."

The ride to the Gillette family home was uncomfortable to say the least. Rosalie sat stiffly against the cushions on one side of the coach. Phillip sat beside her and chattered incessantly about the upcoming dinner, the weather, sailing, and Rosalie wasn't really sure what else. She still silently plotted his murder for placing her in such an awkward position. James sat across from them, politely answering whenever Phillip's mostly one-sided conversation required it. Though, Rosalie could tell that he too was rather preoccupied.

"You've been _strangely _quiet since we left the ship, Rose," Phillip said as he turned toward her.

"You're _strangely _observant this evening, dear brother." She gave him a tight-lipped, sarcastic smile and turned back to the window.

"Miss Gillette?" Norrington's soft but deep voice prompted her to look at him. He was leaning slightly toward her, and there was a gentle look in his eye. "I wish to apologize for the way I acted on the ship earlier. I was terribly rude."

Rosalie stuttered and blushed. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Norrington," she finally managed and quickly looked away from his piercing eyes.

"What happened on the ship?" Phillip asked, a questioning half-smile on his face.

Rosalie didn't know what to say. She didn't want to let her brother know that it was really she who had been rude, or at least brazen. But Norrington stepped in on her behalf. "Miss Gillette asked me a procedural question about docking the ship, and I answered unkindly. I was in an ill temper from lack of rest last night and anticipation of finally arriving in Port Royal."

Phillip was appeased. "Well, it happens to the best of us. No harm done. Right, Rose?"

"Of course," Rosalie answered, relaxing a little in her seat. She shot Norrington a brief look of gratitude that she hoped he saw and understood. He returned her look with one of his small, subdued smiles. Perhaps the night wouldn't be as uncomfortable as she had thought.

"So, tell me, Rose," Phillip mused after a couple of seconds of silence had passed, "will you be this restrained at dinner with Mother and Isabel tonight?" He smirked at her. "For some reason, I think not."

Rosalie took off her obscenely large hat and began to fan herself. She glared at him. "You know, Phillip, sometimes I really don't like you."

Norrington muffled a chuckle behind his hand.

"Go ahead and be that way," Phillip replied. "I might invite James to the parlor for a drink and leave you alone with those two lionesses. Then you will have no allies."

"You wouldn't dare leave me alone to be picked over by those vultures!"

James smile wryly. "Lionesses? Vultures? I'm beginning to regret accepting this invitation."

The three of them laughed together, and the uncomfortable air that had settled in the coach when they first entered dissipated. Even the cloud of melancholy that hovered over James seemed to lift as it had during those brief moments on the ship before Rosalie's misstep.

"Oh!" Rosalie groaned. "I don't think I can face Mother's endless criticism or Isabel's barely concealed scorn. Not to mention her two… her two… brats! Yes, I said it! Those children are positively _horrid_!"

"Rose!" Phillip exclaimed. "You're impossible." He flicked back the curtain that covered the coach's window. "And you better put your hat back on. Here we are."

Rosalie groaned again and began to fidget with her hat and dress. _What's the use? _she thought. _Mother will find something no matter what I do_. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She was glad to be home, and she loved her mother and sister. Truly, she did. But she just did not see eye to eye with either of them. It was as if, to them, Rosalie was some newly discovered creature that needed to be studied and tutored in the ways of proper humans.

When the coach stopped, Norrington stepped down first, and Rosalie stood to follow. He took her hand to help her down, and when he did, she couldn't help but notice the rough but pleasant feel of his fingertips on her skin. She quickly pulled her hand away when her feet were safely on the ground, and he gave no resistance.

She dallied by the coach until Phillip urged her forward. "Come, Rose," he said, "there's no use in delaying the inevitable."

"There, Benjamin," Phillip said as he handed the folded piece of parchment to his manservant. "Please take this to Lord Beckett's mansion immediately. Tell him that Admiral Norrington has been found and is dining with us this evening."

James stiffened at the use of his title, but he did not correct Phillip. After all, he was still an admiral. At least until he formally resigned.

Phillip looked back at James. "Now, that's settled," he said, "I suspect you will probably receive a reply from Lord Beckett sometime after dinner." They were standing in the foyer, but raised voices from the sitting room caused both men to look to the door. Phillip grimaced. "It seems that poor Rose may need some help."

James followed Phillip through the door and into the sitting room. Although the three women became immediately silent when they entered the room, he could feel the tension in the room as if it were some tangible substance he had to wade through. Mrs. Gillette and her eldest daughter sat on one couch while Rosalie sat alone and straight backed across from them. Her lips were compressed into a thin, pale line, and she stared down at the cup of tea in her hands.

"Phillip," Mrs. Gillette crowed, "my dear, I am so glad you were able to join us for dinner. And that you brought Admiral Norrington with you!" She stood and curtsied to him. "Admiral, what a pleasure it is to see you well! I cannot imagine the hardships you have been through these past months, but we are all overjoyed at your safe return."

"It is kind of you to say so," James answered simply. "And the pleasure is all mine." He could sense that she was fishing for details about his work with Cutler Beckett and Davy Jones and the war on piracy in general, but he would not take her bait and gossip about those things. James had always been loath to gossip, but the real reason he kept his silence was because he knew some of the things he had witnessed in the past couple of years of his life could not be discussed in the sitting room of a society lady.

"Yes, it has been a bleak couple of months in Port Royal," Mrs. Gillette continued. "We thought we lost you. We lost Lord Cutler Beckett and Governor Swann. Not to mention the disappearance of his poor daughter. Although, she was always a wild one that Elizabeth."

James looked away uncomfortably, unable to respond. He had known falling back into society in Port Royal would be hard, but he hadn't expected to hear Elizabeth's name so soon. It hurt. It hurt worse than it did when he whispered it to himself in his solitude. The pain of being stabbed onboard _The Flying Dutchman_ was nothing in comparison.

Phillip cleared his throat nervously and began, "Yes, Mother, well…." But before he could finish, Mrs. Gillette had already turned to other things.

"Rosalie!" she barked sharply. "Don't bounce your foot so, child. It's very unbecoming of a young lady. You must sit still."

James saw Rosalie's cheeks redden, and her light brows drew down angrily. She opened her mouth to speak what James could only assume would be a biting retort, but Phillip once again tried to ease the situation. "James, how could I have forgotten!" he exclaimed in an unnaturally loud voice. He laughed nervously. "I must introduce you to my other sister. This is Mrs. Isabel Newton."

"Mrs. Newton." She stood and curtsied to him, and he acknowledged her with a small bow. She was an attractive enough woman with light brown hair, a clear complexion, and a nice figure. But there was coldness in her pale blue eyes that James found unsettling and a bit repulsive.

"What a pleasure it is to meet you, Admiral Norrington," she said to him with a smile that didn't reach her icy eyes. "I know my husband will be delighted as well. He will be joining us for dinner."

James opened his mouth to offer her the standard polite reply, but just then the sitting room door flew open with a resounding bang. He started and watched, open-mouthed, as a young boy and girl ran into the room like hurricanes.

"Mother! Mother!" the boy exclaimed in a whiney voice. "When will we eat dinner? Mother, I'm hungry!"

"Mind your manners, Leopold," Mrs. Newton chided her son but with no great earnest.

"Oh, look," said the girl, who appeared to be a couple years younger than the boy. "We frightened Aunt Rosalie so that she has spilled her tea." She giggled meanly.

Indeed, Rosalie was furiously scrubbing at a dark spot on the couch, a pained look on her face. James could also see another splattering of spots on the side of her dress as well.

Mrs. Gillette had been laughing good naturedly at the antics of her grandchildren, but upon this revelation she turned her attention toward her youngest daughter again. "Rosalie, how can you be so clumsy! You have ruined my couch and your dress! And that was one of the few that you actually looked suitable in."

Rosalie slammed her cup down and jumped from her seat. There was fire in her eyes, and James suspected Phillip would not be able to dissuade her anger this time. "Forgive me, Mother," she seethed in a tone that suggested that she wasn't at all genuine about asking for forgiveness. "But maybe if _Isabel_ could keep her children in line, this would not have happened!"

Mrs. Newton did not rise to her sister's bait. She looked at Rosalie calmly and took a sip of her tea. "Rosalie," she said soothingly with a small shake of her head, "you know you have always been a clumsy thing. Please do not take your anger out on my children."

"Take my…!" Rosalie spluttered and turned redder than before. "Why!"

Phillip was looking from one sister to the other, looking desperate. James would have found the situation hilarious if it hadn't been so uncomfortable. Luckily they were all saved from further calamity. At that moment, one of the maids came in to announce that dinner had been served.

Rosalie had to bite her lip through most of dinner. Phillip had pulled her aside and given her a harsh look as everyone migrated into the dining room. Then she had shook off his grip and glared at him, but she did make an effort from then on to be more reserved. Phillip was her one and only ally in her family, and she did not wish to lose him. Everyone else at the table chattered somewhat pleasantly, but she and Norrington remained mostly silent.

She watched him as he pushed the food around on his plate, barely eating anything. She had never seen someone whose moods could ship so quickly. It was as if a switch was flipped. He had been pleasant in the coach and had seemed relatively happy when he came into the sitting room with Phillip, but after her mother began speaking of the late governor and his missing daughter, his mood became dark again.

Rosalie looked up from her plate with a silent gasp as something clicked in her mind. _Elizabeth_. That was the name Norrington had mumbled when she almost ran into him that night on the ship. He had been drunk, she was sure, and his words had been slurred. But she was almost positive that had been the name he said. She would have to ask Phillip about the connection later.

"Don't gape like that, Rosalie," her mother urged. "It's very unbecoming."

Rosalie smiled sweetly even though she was burning on the inside. "Yes, Mother," she replied. Her mother obviously had not noticed the sarcastic tone of her voice and seemed satisfied. Phillip, however, looked at her sharply.

"What?" she mouthed to him silently. He shook his head and went back to his meal.

"So, Admiral Norrington," began Isabel's husband, "what plans do you have now that your back in Port Royal?" Mr. Newton was a rather round man with thinning hair and too small brown eyes. The sight of him often made Rosalie cringe. She couldn't imagine Isabel settling down with such a man, but he was wealthy and from a good family. To Isabel that must have been enough.

"Actually," Norrington began to answer, "I plan to resign my position when I have a chance to discuss it with… Lord Beckett." His mouth twisted around the name as if it repulsed him. "Other than that, I do not know what I will do now that I am back." He laid his fork down on his plate with a quiet clang, and the whole room was silent for a moment.

"Oh, dear," Mother exclaimed, looking reproachful. Rosalie grimaced. Leave it to her mother to make an already uncomfortable situation worse. "Resign your position? What would entice you to do such a thing, Admiral?"

Norrington made a face that was half smile and half grimace. "I have deemed it necessary, Mrs. Gillette." His tone was polite, but Rosalie saw how the skin around his eyes tightened.

"That's truly unfortunate," Mrs. Gillette continued, unabashed. "A handsome man like you in such a respected station: why you could be the most eligible bachelor in Port Royal!" She finished this statement with a very direct look at her youngest daughter. Rosalie blushed furiously and could've crawled under the table if it wouldn't have made a bigger scene.

She glanced down the table at James and saw that his cheeks were slightly pink as well. He cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Gillette, but I have no plans to get married regardless of how eligible I am deemed to be."

"And why not?" Rosalie's mother laughed. "Are none of the young woman in Port Royal beautiful enough for you, Admiral?"

"Phillip," Rosalie whispered to her brother through gritted teeth, "_do something_!"

Phillip stood so fast that his chair almost fell over behind him. It scooted across the floor with a loud _screech_. "Of course James knows there are many beautiful women in Port Royal, Mother," he said as he stood. "But he's had a long and trying journey, and I'm sure he would rather not be pestered about his love life. James, you seem to have finished your meal. Would you care to join me for a drink in the parlor while we await a reply from Lord Beckett?"

Norrington had stood before Phillip even finished speaking. "Yes." He still looked a bit flustered, but Rosalie admired the way he had all but calmed himself. She, on the other hand, was ready to throttle her mother. "If you will excuse me- ladies, Mr. Newton." He nodded to Rosalie as he followed Phillip out of the room. "Thank you, Miss Gillette." Rosalie offered him a faltering smile, but he was already out the door.

"James," Phillip began as soon as they entered the parlor, "I'm so sorry…."

James cut him off. "That drink you mentioned, Phillip?" He knew his tone was curt, and inside, it bothered him to be rude to someone who he truly cared for. But he had taken all he could stand in one night.

Thankfully, Phillip produced two glasses and a fine bottle of scotch immediately. He poured and handed one glass to James. He lifted it to his lips and tossed it back without a word or a hesitation. The bitter liquid burned all the way down, but he did not grimace. He set the glass back down on the table and looked at Phillip expectantly.

"More?" the other man asked skeptically.

"Please." James threw back the second glass just as he had the first then nodded. "Thank you." He sighed and stared down at the empty glass in his hand, hating himself.

"James," Phillip started again, "I'm sorry you were subjected to that. Sometimes my mother… well, she only has one thing on her mind. And that's to find a suitable husband for Rosalie."

James shook his head. "I pity Miss Gillette."

Phillip laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, so do I." He paused. "She would murder me if I didn't assure you that she had no part in that. Truly, Rose despises Mother's games."

"Yes, I thought she looked just as uncomfortable as I. She needn't worry. I know how mothers can be sometimes."

Phillip nodded. Then the door swung open to admit Benjamin, Phillip's manservant. "Admiral Gillette," he said, "Admiral Norrington, I have a return letter for you from Lord Beckett. He asks that you read it immediately." He handed the letter to James.

It read:

_Attn. Admiral Norrington:_

_First of all, I would like to express my pleasure in your safe return to Port Royal. Though we have never met, I have no doubt that you were a loyal servant to my late brother during his time in command over the E.I.T.C._

_That being said, I would like to meet with you immediately to discuss the future of E.I.T.C. in Port Royal and your position and responsibilities therein. I request that you come by my quarters at Fort Charles upon receiving this letter. _

_As to your inquiry, I have not yet settled the affairs of your estate as no family has come to claim it or your possessions. So it would seem, you may continue to reside in your home with no problems as if none of this ever happened. _

_I look forward to meeting with you straightaway. We have important matters to discuss._

_ Lord B. Beckett_

_ East India Trading Company_

James sat back and rubbed a hand across his forehead. The very tone of the letter made his stomach turn. The young Bartholomew Beckett already seemed eerily like his elder brother: pompous, rude, and assuming. James felt as if he were being pulled back into a situation that he did not wish to be in. _Not this time_, he thought angrily. He slammed the letter down on the table with a harsh thump. He would meet with _Lord_ Beckett if for nothing else but to resign his position. When he was no longer a servant of the British Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company, he would no longer be subject to the manipulations of Beckett. It was what he should have done last time. But that was finished. This was his chance to set things right.

"Phillip," he said, "I'm afraid I must be going. Lord Beckett wishes me to report to Fort Charles immediately." He paused and looked at the glass that still sat inches away from his hand. "But first I believe I need one more drink."

"Ah, Admiral Norrington, it's so nice to finally meet you." Lord Bartholomew Beckett did not stand when James entered his quarters at Fort Charles. He was a small man, like his late brother, but he was young and, James supposed, moderately attractive. Still, James didn't know if his mind was poisoned against the whole Beckett family, but he knew right away that he did not like the man. His small black eyes were shifty, darting from place to place and never quite resting on James'. James never liked a man who could not look him in the eye.

"Lord Beckett." James nodded curtly. "You wished to see me."

Beckett looked down and shuffled some papers. "Yes, well," he said after he cleared his throat, "my brother's unfortunate death, the nature of it being what it was, has left me with quite a mess. Most of the Pirate Brethren are still at large, and Port Royal and the E.I.T.C. are being mocked on all the corners of the earth for our inability to eradicate these… _pests_." He paused and finally met James' eyes. "Some of what transpired during my brother's efforts to do away with these pirates is still vague and somewhat inexplicable to me." He put up his hands defensively. "I'm not going to ask you to explain everything that happened. What is important to me is simply this: I want every pirate here with a noose around his, or her, neck before we become the laughingstock of the world. I know that you were… closely involved… in the affairs my brother conducted. I wish for you to be my counsel, my… right hand as it were, in my endeavors."

For a moment, James could only gape at the other man. Cutler Beckett's correspondence with his younger brother must not have hinted at any of the animosity between the two men. Or maybe it had, and Bartholomew Beckett simply wished to take advantage of James as his brother had. "Before you go on… Lord Becket, I must say…." James began, but Beckett continued his speech as if James had said nothing.

"I know what it once meant to you, Admiral, to be the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean. Why not take it further?" Beckett stood. "Why stop with just the Caribbean? My brother may have been an ambitious man, but I…." He paused and smiled to himself. "Well, I have bigger things in mind."

James glared at him. _Could this man be worse than Cutler Beckett? Was it even possible?_ "As I was saying," he continued firmly, "before you go on, I believe you should know that I would like to resign my position as admiral." Even though he had been planning to make this announcement, it felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. The enormity of his decision was settling over him, and he was afraid, more so than he could ever remember. But he could not turn back now.

Beckett gaped at him. "Resign?" he scoffed in disbelief. "Why would you ever do that?"

James gritted his teeth. _Why must everyone ask me that question?_ "It is something I must do." He drew himself up and looked Beckett firmly in the eye, daring him to contest his decision.

After a moment, Beckett tossed his head back and laughed. It was a cruel laugh, and James clenched his fists, feeling his fingernails biting into the skin of his palms. "Oh, I see," Beckett said. "Haven't you done this before, Admiral? Or should I say, Mr. Norrington? This isn't the first time you've given up your position. Where will you go? Back to Tortuga for rum-soaked nights in whore houses?" His tone was mocking, and it took all James' restraint for him not to unleash his fury on the smaller man. He had not known that his previous fall from glory had been a topic of gossip.

"I don't believe it's any of your…." He trailed off. Beckett had stood and something caught James' eye. Something familiar.

Beckett followed his gaze. "Ah, this?" He pulled the sword, James' sword, from its scabbard. "Yes, it was discovered among the wreckage of the ships after the battle at Shipwreck Cove. How fortunate that it was saved and returned here to _my _care." He looked appreciatively at the fine weapon then placed it firmly back in its sheath. "Sorry, Norrington," he continued with a look of feigned pity, "but a sword like this does not belong in the hands of someone who fraternizes with pirates."

James glared at him, too many emotions raging through him to count. "If that is all you need," he finally grated out, though each syllable pained him, "I will take my leave now." Without waiting for a dismissal, he turned on his heel and started for the door.

"Oh, Norrington?" Despite himself, James paused and turned to face Beckett. "If I were you, I'd report back here at noon tomorrow." He grinned slyly. "I'm hanging one of these so called Pirate Lords. I know you wouldn't want to miss it."

James was too surprised to reply. He stormed to the door and slammed it behind him.

It was dark in the cell. And damp. The man rolled a piece of eight across his knuckles and hummed a tune. He knew he was going to die. It was inevitable and, if he had to admit it, deserved. He shouldn't have let himself be captured. It was only fortunate that most of his crew escaped with their lives.

That also meant that word of his execution would get out.

There might not be any great love affair among the Pirate Lords, but they would avenge their own.

He kept humming. "… _Never shall we die…._"

Beckett did not know what he was unleashing.

"Après moi le deluge."

**A/N: **Whooo another chapter in less than a week! Yay! Anyways, hope you guys liked this chapter, and if you did please let me know! By the way, "après moi le deluge" means: "after me, the flood" for those of you who aren't familiar with the saying. It is also a little hint about which pirate lord is to be Bartholomew Beckett's first victim ;) Review, review, review!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thank you to my faithful few who are actually reviewing. You guys are the best! And without further ado (since I have already kept you waiting) on to chapter six! **EDIT**: I just noticed that my page breaks were not showing up when I upload the chapters, so I apologize if any of you have been perplexed by the abrupt shifts in character POV.

**Chapter Six**

"It is so wonderful to have you home safe, Admiral…ah… Mr. Norrington."

James wondered when Alice, his housekeeper, would get used to omitting his former title. He had arrived at his estate only an hour before to find the elderly woman and her husband, Nathaniel, still living in and attending to his estate. The couple had been with his family since before he was born, and they said they "just couldn't bear to leave the place."

"Thank you, Alice," he replied. "It's good to be home." And for the first time since the ship docked in Port Royal, he really meant it.

The familiar interior and grounds of his home comforted him in a way that was difficult to describe. Yes, it brought back some painful memories of his life before fate had turned it upside down. But even so the comfortable domestic sounds of Alice and Nathaniel as they bustled around made him feel less lonely than he had in a while.

He spent a little while that night looking over his accounts. He had enough funds to cover his living expenses and provide Alice and Nathaniel their usual salaries for some time. He knew he needn't worry for the time being, but he was a cautious man and felt that soon he would need to establish a new source of income. He shook his head and put his papers away. _I'll think about that later_.

After that he still could not sleep. Nathaniel and Alice had long since gone to bed, so he could not while away the hours in conversation. He was more in the mood for solitude anyway. He decided to take a walk in his garden. Horticulture was something of a hobby of his. He didn't have much time for it after his promotion to commodore then admiral, but Nathaniel had tended the garden for him and kept it up during his absence. The hibiscus, heart flowers, the crab claw, and the various shrubs all looked well kept.

Moonlight glinted off white blooms and the small pond as James walked into the garden. His first love was the sea, but he had also been taken by the beauty of the land at a young age. It was almost a secret. No one knew of his love for planting and tending what he had planted, watching it grow. It was also here where he came to do most of his serious thinking. He strolled over to an old mahogany tree in the center of the garden and placed his hand on the rough, gnarled bark. He had been there, beneath that tree, when he first realized he wanted to propose to Elizabeth Swann.

He plucked up a white hibiscus flower and spun the bloom on his fingertips. He had been so sure of himself then, of what he wanted, and who he was. Now, he was adrift. At least one thing was certain: he was no longer Admiral Norrington. Now he was just plain James Norrington, but who was that? Maybe he should just leave Port Royal forever, join the crew on some merchant liner. He could find a vessel that would take him on. He knew his way around a ship. Better than most men, in fact. But then he recalled Tia Dalma's charge. It complicated matters as it usually did, and as James knew it would for some time. Could he disregard the words of the woman who had brought him back from Davy Jones' Locker? No. He would have to stay in Port Royal, at least until this business with Bartholomew Beckett was taken care of. Then he could leave forever and the whole place be damned.

He crumpled the petals of the flower in his palm and thought about the bottle of whiskey he knew Nathaniel kept in a cabinet in the servants' quarters. James hadn't kept liquor in the house since his stint in Tortuga. In fact, he hadn't kept much even before then. But Nathaniel professed to "take the draught for 'is achin' bones," and James knew where his stash was, could access it easily. It was so tempting. That mindless, liquid oblivion called his name like a lover.

James was about to leave the loneliness beneath the aged mahogany tree in favor of the numbness at the bottom of a bottle, but then he saw himself. He saw himself as he was those weeks in Tortuga: disheveled and rum soaked. He recalled the way he had staggered from bar to bar, reeking of liquor and slurring his words. He recalled Bartholomew Beckett's sneer earlier that evening. He expected James to fall into disgrace, expected him to make a fool out of himself. He would not be _that _man again. James let the ruined petals fall to the ground, walked back into his home, and went to bed.

…

"Easy now," Rosalie soothed as she trotted the horse around the ring. It was early morning, only an hour after dawn, but she hadn't been able to sleep longer. Before retiring to her room the night before Jane, her maid, had mentioned that she should go have a look at the young green-broke stallion who had been giving the stable hands a little trouble. From her education in England she hadn't improved her measly artistic ability, and all musical instruments practically screamed in protest if she so much as touched them. But in her time there, she had honed her equestrian skills and was proud to consider herself a master horsewoman.

Before his death, her father had had a passion for horses as well. He raised a few of them, and built a modest barn and riding arena on their small property. Although she had no great love for them, Rosalie's mother had hired stable hands to keep the barn and stock maintained after her father's death. The horses were mostly bred and sold for profit, but currently there were four horses on the property. Rosalie was happy to have the chance to work with this one before her mother sold him off.

She had christened the fiery young stallion Ares, and although she loved taking jumps and weaving in and out of obstacles, there was something even more fulfilling in taming something wild. She could work him up to the jumps. Ares had shied away from her at first and bucked violently when she finally got him saddled. But after years of shirking her studies to sneak out to the stables, Rosalie had learned how to use her voice and demeanor to soothe a horse. It didn't take long before she was in the saddle, walking him steadily around the ring.

"There you go, Ares," she crooned as she rubbed his neck affectionately. "This isn't so bad, is it?"

The dun colored stallion snorted in assent, and Rosalie grinned. "Alright, baby, now we're going to pick up the pace. Get ready!" She gently tapped his sides with her heels to urge him forward, but just as he was about to break out into a canter….

"Miss Gillette!"

Rosalie pulled Ares to a stop and looked to the back of the house where the call had come from. Jane was shouting and running out to meet her.

"You better hurry, Miss," she breathed. "You're mother has worked herself into a frenzy looking for you. She says you will be late for the hanging."

Rosalie had to bite back a curse. Instead she just growled under her breath. "Tell Mother I will be in shortly, Jane."

"I wouldn't tarry, Miss Gillette," Jane replied nervously. Then she exclaimed: "oh! She will have my head if she finds out I told you to come out here!"

"No need to worry, Jane," Rosalie assured her. She sighed. "I'll be in right away then. Just let me drop Ares off at the stable."

Jane had been right. As soon as Rosalie walked through the door, her mother rushed up to her like a whirlwind.

"Where on earth have you been, Rosalie? The stables, I'll wager! Just look at your face- all covered in dust and grime! If the horse stock didn't bring in good money I would tear it down, board by board. You have to get washed up and dressed! We are going to be late."

"Stop it, Mother," Rosalie growled as she tried to avoid her mother's attempts to brush the dirt off her face and dress. "I will go up to my room and dress right now if you insist, but must I go to Fort Charles for the hanging?" She scrunched up her freckled nose in displeasure. She had no love for pirates, but the thought of any man in the hangman's noose disturbed her terribly. Having to actually see the execution take place…. The thought of it made her stomach turn.

But her mother was already nodding her head emphatically. "Yes, you must go. The whole town will be there. And don't you want to support the navy and the E.I.T.C. in the war on piracy?"

"Well, I suppose…."

Her mother snorted. "You suppose!" She shook her head. "Plus, Lord Beckett will be there."

Rosalie glared at her through narrowed eyes. "And why would I care where Lord Beckett is or where he is not?" she asked coolly.

"Because I have spoken favorably of you to him and…." She trailed off with a sigh. "Well, you're quickly approaching an age when it will be hard, if not impossible, to make a good match. This may be your last chance."

Rosalie's jaw dropped indignantly, but Jane rushed into the foyer and hurried her up to her room before she could conjure up a scathing reply.

Dressing was another torturous process. Her mother had selected a new gown with a corset that made it nearly impossible for her to breathe. Jane pulled the laces so tight that Rosalie thought she might faint.

"Honestly, Jane!" Rosalie exclaimed with a gasp as the other woman tried to tighten the laces of her corset once more. "Why don't you just put your knee in the small of my back there for better leverage? Wouldn't be any _more _painful."

"Calm down, Miss Gillette," Jane replied, and Rosalie could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "All the fashionable young ladies are wearing them. I would think you would know that coming from London as you are."

"I wasn't exactly the most 'fashionable young lady' in London. I prefer my simple frocks… and a good supply of oxygen."

Jane muffled a giggle. "Well, this is what your mother told me to make sure you wore. And after all this is your first public outing since your return to Port Royal. You want to look your best." One last tug on the corset. "There now, let's get you into this… and…. Ah, look! You look positively lovely."

She turned Rosalie so that she had a good view of herself in the mirror. With the corset and dress finally secure, she had to say that she was quite pleased with the finished product. The dress was lovely. It was an understated silvery blue with light lace detail at the sleeves. She was thoroughly surprised that her mother had not forced something gaudy and pretentious on her. Jane had styled Rosalie's hair in an up-do, leaving a few pieces of her hair strawberry blond hair to fall in gentle curls around her face and neck. Suddenly a thought stole into her mind unbidden: _what will Mr. Norrington think when he sees me?_ Instantly her cheeks warmed and she glanced away from the mirror. _What on earth brought such a thought on?_

"Rosalie, are you ready yet?" Her mother's shrill cry came ringing up the stairs to her room.

Jane chuckled. "You better go, Miss." Rosalie nodded in assent and started toward the door, but she paused when Jane added: "If it's not too bold of me to say, you will certainly catch Lord Beckett's eye today."

Rosalie gripped the silver knob of her bedroom door hard in her anger. She looked over her shoulder at Jane. "Just how much has my mother been talking of her matchmaking plans?" she demanded. "Does the whole town know?"

Jane grimaced. "I'm sure not the _whole _town."

"Rosalie, now, dear!"

Rosalie shook her head and opened the door. "This is going to be mortifying."

"Oh, wait, Miss Gillette! Don't forget your hat." Jane handed her a matching hat that wasn't horrid but was still too large and obtrusive for her tastes. Still, she took it with a sigh and started down the stairs.

…

The sun beat down relentlessly on the ramparts of Fort Charles that afternoon. Society ladies took out their fans, and their husbands discreetly dabbed at their foreheads with bright white handkerchiefs. Not one of them seemed to be bothered by the fact that they were about to witness a man's death. James didn't take any pride or pleasure in this execution as he once might have done. The whole thing was tasteless and vulgar, and once again he asked himself why he even came.

_Because he expects you to crawl away with your tail between your legs. _

He knew it was true. Beckett had taunted him with the hanging because he knew James'… _complicated_… history with pirates. He wanted to do anything and everything to drive him over the edge. Well, it wouldn't happen. James had had to come to the execution that afternoon and look just as stern and steady as he had when he was an admiral.

"Ugly business, this," Phillip said as he came to stand by James' shoulder. "But it has to be done."

"Indeed," James murmured with a clear lack of enthusiasm.

Phillip tried to study him discreetly out of the corner of his eye, but James noticed. "It's odd to see you here at the fort dressed as a civilian," he finally said.

James smiled wryly. "I am a civilian now, Phillip. You might as well get used to seeing me out of uniform."

Phillip shrugged. "Are you sure you haven't been too rash?" he urged. "Surely you could talk to Lord Beckett again and reclaim your title. Most of Port Royal has not even heard of your resignation yet. It would be as if nothing happened."

"Phillip," James warned.

"I know. I know." Phillip sighed but dropped the subject. "So, did you enjoy meeting Lord Beckett last night?"

"I don't think… _"enjoy"_… quite captures the sentiment," James replied stiffly. He had caught sight of Beckett standing on a raised partition to the left side of the scaffold. With the amount of brocade and adornments on his uniform he looked like a strutting peacock. James curled his lip in distaste. The man looked more like his late brother this afternoon, and James could see the eagerness in his eyes as he anticipated the coming execution. While he couldn't be completely honest about his true motives for resigning his position, he decided to be somewhat frank with Phillip. "I do not get a good feeling about that man."

Phillip shrugged. "I don't know, James." He scratched the edge of his wig then laughed a little nervously. "I just follow orders. And this has always been our duty, to rid the seas of pirates and to protect citizens under the crown. It's still a noble cause, isn't it?"

He peered up at James, and he remembered that Phillip was a few years his junior and had looked to him for guidance for many years. If only James still knew what guidance to give. He looked away. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

"But…" Phillip began in a startled voice, but Rosalie had walked over to them and he stopped.

"How… dare you… leave me alone… with Mother… again," she scolded him between labored breaths.

To save Phillip from her wrath and avoid another bout of sibling warfare, James broke in. "Miss Gillette, are you quite alright?"

She fanned herself furiously, stirring the delicate curls resting on her neck. James caught the light fragrance of lavender. "Yes… thank you, Mr. Norrington." She seemed to be catching her breath again although her cheeks were still tinged pink. "It's just so hot out today, and I've been frantically searching for my brother since he deserted me with Mother when we first arrived."

"There is a spot of shade right over here," he offered. "It should provide you with some respite from the heat. Shall we move?" She nodded gratefully, and he offered her his arm. As she rested her small hand lightly in the crook of his arm, he studied her and noticed how the pale silvery blue of her gown complemented the fair cream tones of her skin.

"Thank you," she breathed as she looked up at him with a smile when they reached the shady spot. "This will be much better." Her brows drew down and her eyes darkened as she looked up at the scaffold. "I just wish I didn't have to be here at all. Not for this."

James felt refreshed and grateful that she didn't relish the excitement of attending a hanging like many silly young ladies did. He suspected that Rosalie was not a silly young lady. "I must say that I agree with you wholeheartedly, Miss Gillette."

Again, she glanced up at him and gave him a smile. This time it was smaller and a little sad. "You mean to tell me you aren't glad to see the seas rid of another dangerous pirate? You surprise me a little more every time I speak to you, Mr. Norrington." She glanced away, and James saw that her cheeks had darkened with a blush.

"Come now, Rose," Phillip said, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had descended upon them. "You couldn't have stayed home today. Mother would have missed showing you off to your potential suitor. And, I must say, you do look lovely this afternoon."

Rosalie glared at him. "Phillip," she growled. "Do shut your mouth, if you please."

Phillip laughed and turned to James to explain. "Mother has her eye on Lord Beckett for my dear sister here."

James raised his eyebrows in part surprise part disgust. Beckett would be far more suited for one of the mindless ninnies who would throw herself at him simply for the wealth and the station his name could give her.

"Ugh," Rosalie groaned before James could construct a reply, "Don't torment me, Phillip." She looked over to where Beckett was standing, and James watched as the same dislike he felt registered on her face. "Just look at all those embellishments!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Who on earth would dress like that willingly?" She threw a sly grin at Phillip. "Though you're not much better, brother."

James laughed, and Phillip rolled his eyes at both of him. "I wouldn't be so snide, Rose," he replied after a moment. "Look who has gone to converse with Lord Beckett."

James looked back over and saw that Mrs. Gillette had made her way over to where Beckett was standing. He seemed to greet her amiably, and she instantly began what looked like an in-depth conversation.

"Oh, no!" Rosalie exclaimed. "She'll be looking for me, wanting me to go flirt with him. I cannot do it. Especially not in this heat and this accursed corset! Bloody fashionable London ladies."

"Language, Rose!" Phillip exclaimed.

James laughed again, enjoying the reproachful look of indignation on Phillip's face and Rosalie's boldness. But then the drums began to roll. All eyes lifted to the scaffold as two naval officers led a man out.

He was tall and straight-backed with short, disheveled brown hair and a dark, neatly trimmed facial hair. He held his head high and looked out, unflinching, at the spectators in front of him. His eyes were hard and proud, and for an instant they locked with James'. There was an accusation in them. It was as if the man knew him, knew his thoughts, and was asking: "how could you let this happen?" But that was impossible. James had never seen the man in his life. Still, it was an uncomfortable feeling, and he had to look away.

As the executioner slipped the noose around the man's neck, another officer began to read from a scroll, detailing who the man was and why he was to be executed. James learned that he was called Chevalle, one of the fabled nine pirate lords, and his list of crimes was extensive. But James couldn't concentrate on the words. All he could think about was why this bothered him so much. Then he remembered Elizabeth as he last saw her, a pirate captain. This could've been her. If she was still alive it could very well be her in the future if Beckett continued this war. But his angst stemmed from more than that. He had an unshakable feeling that this wasn't right. The weeks leading up to his… death… had taught him much. On that night that he aided Elizabeth and her crew in escaping the _Dutchman_, he had decided that life wasn't as black and white as he had once thought it was. He had seen things that had made him decide that maybe the real evil wasn't the pirates after all.

Echoing his own thoughts, Rosalie murmured, "This is wrong." James looked over at her and saw that her brow was creased. She shook her head. "Wrong."

"Wrong?" Phillip repeated, giving her a perplexed look. "I agree this isn't a pleasant occasion, but wrong? Of course it's not wrong, Rose. The man's a pirate – a thief, a murderer. He committed his crimes, and now he must be punished." He looked to James for confirmation.

James continued to look at Rosalie. He saw genuine compassion and worry in her eyes. No, she would never be happy with Beckett. He looked back at the condemned man on the scaffold choosing to ignore Phillip for the moment.

The officer who had been reading out Chevalle's offenses fell silent, and Chevalle was given the opportunity to voice any last words. The proud Frenchmen remained mute, continuing to stare defiantly out at the crowd who would judge him. After a moment's pause the drums began to roll again, and at the crescendo the trap door in the floor of the scaffold dropped. Chevalle fell, and the rope pulled taut.

…

Rosalie couldn't watch as the pirate fell through the scaffold's trap door. She immediately turned away and buried her face in her hands. She felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, and she couldn't fathom why. Phillip was right after all. The man was a pirate! Still, the brutality of the whole situation pained her. When she felt sure that the tears wouldn't escape the prison of her eyelids, she glanced up at the crowd around them. The other townspeople were not even phased. Adults and children alike looked up to the scaffold with a kind of morbid fascination in their eyes. She could not bear it.

She heard James make a sound of disgust deep in his throat, and she looked up to see him turning away from the sight also. "Excuse me, Miss Gillette," he said, turning back to her and offering her a graceful bow. He nodded to her brother. "Phillip." Then without another word, he turned and walked away.

Despite his sensible words about justice and what was right, Phillip looked a little uneasy at the execution. "I'm sorry, Rose," he said as he straightened his jacket, "but I'm afraid I must return to my post. You should join Mother now." He took her hand and gave it a quick but tender squeeze. "And I am truly sorry you were forced to come here today. You should not have had to witness that. I know that now." And with that, he too left her.

Rosalie looked around helplessly for a quiet alcove she could tuck herself into until most of the crowd, and Lord Beckett for that matter, dispersed. Maybe her mother would remain distracted.

"Rosalie, darling! There you are!" No such luck. She turned to see her mother bustling toward her, red cheeked and waving. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Do come let me introduce you to Lord Beckett."

"Mother…!" Rosalie protested, but her mother had her by the hand and began to lead her away from her shady, secluded spot. Her eyes found Lord Beckett again well before they reached him. He was hard to miss in his heavily embellished uniform. He was a small man, only slightly taller than her. Although he wore a powdered wig beneath his hat as most men of high standing did, the shade of his eyes and complexion suggested dark hair. Rosalie supposed he could be attractive enough, but he wore a smug smirk, and his dark eyes were arrogant and condescending.

"Lord Beckett," her mother began in a fawning tone, "I'd like to introduce you to my youngest daughter who just returned from London."

"Ah, Miss Gillette," he said, taking Rosalie's hand and bowing slightly. "It is my pleasure. And I am very pleased that you could make it to my little…." He paused with a slight grin as he searched for the word. "Party…" he finally finished, resuming his superior smirk.

She should've constructed a diplomatic reply. Even if she wasn't at all interested in Bartholomew Beckett, she could've kept her mother appeased. But Rosalie uttered the first words that came to her mind. "Actually, I find it barbaric."

Her mother looked as if she might faint, but Beckett surprised her by laughing. "You speak your mind. I can appreciate that," he conceded after a moment. Then his eyes turned cool as ice. "But I urge you to understand one thing about me, Miss Gillette. I will eradicate piracy in the Caribbean. This is only one small first step, so you had better prepare yourself."

Rosalie looked at him defiantly. "Well, we all do appreciate you, Lord Beckett," her mother continued. " 'tis a noble undertaking. That is certain."

Beckett resumed his genial demeanor and began to prattle on with her mother about everything and nothing at all while Rosalie was forced to listen and seem somewhat interested. She was not very good at the latter. While they talked she glanced around the battlements, searching for some kind of amusement. Then something at the scaffold caught her eye.

The dead pirate's body had already been removed, and everyone's attention was elsewhere by now. But a lone man now stood on the scaffold, and when he turned slightly towards Rosalie recognized that it was James. He stood tall, but there was a slight slump in his shoulders that suggested sadness. Rosalie felt a pang for him, again wondering what his real story was. He bent down, and she saw him grasp something in his hand and examine it in the light. When he did this Rosalie was struck by the view of his strong body silhouetted by the sun. She blushed but did not look away. As she watched, he shook the item and held it to his ear, seeming to listen to something.

"Rosalie? Didn't you hear Lord Beckett speaking to you, dear?"

"I apologize, my lord," she said tersely, turning back to them. "I was simply… lost in thought."

"Hmm." Beckett glanced at the scaffold then turned shrewd eyes to her. "I see. Well, I merely stated that I hate to take leave so soon, but I do have duties to attend to. If your dear mother does not object, I will take the liberty of calling on you so that we may become better acquainted."

Before Rosalie could form a reply, her mother spoke up. "Of course I do not object! I – I mean _we_ – would be delighted if you called upon the house from time to time." Rosalie gaped at her. She was practically gushing and blushing like a school girl. "Oh, isn't this exciting!" she gasped after Beckett left. She clasped Rosalie's hand. "Play your cards right, and you might be matched with the most powerful man in Port Royal." Rosalie rolled her eyes.

…

James couldn't put into exact words what had urged him to walk up to the scaffold. He didn't want to go there… but… he _had to_.

He stopped and stood only centimeters away from where Chevalle had fallen to his death. Laying there on the pale, cracked wood was a Spanish silver dollar, also known as a piece of eight. What compelled him to pick up the coin, he couldn't say, but when James' fingers touched the cool metal… he heard….

James brought the piece of eight closer to his eyes, examined it in the sunlight. It was inexplicable. Now, he was sure of it. He _heard _something coming from the coin. It was a low humming, almost more of a vibration of power than an actual sound. But now it was unmistakable. The piece of eight was… _singing_.

Amazing! Though, James supposed he had witnessed more unbelievable things in his final years as a naval officer.

He knew he couldn't leave it there, and somehow he sensed that he was meant to take it. The piece of eight _was _his. He started to tuck it into his pocket but decided against it. He left it safely curled into his fist.

…

Captain Elizabeth Swann briefly leaned against the railing and closed her eyes, silently praying for a bout of nausea to pass. She felt more at home on a ship than on land, and she had never been seasick until the past few days. She didn't know what was happening, but she wanted it to stop.

The men aboard the _Empress _had been reluctant at best and downright furious at worst when Sao Feng relinquished captainship to her upon his death. But after the battle at Shipwreck Cove, she had earned the respect of her crew. Now, she couldn't let them see her weak.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon, Huang!" she called in a strong voice to her first mate. "We're in unfriendly waters."

Elizabeth also peered out into the distance. She hadn't been in contact with Jack Sparrow or any of the other pirate Lords since she had called them together days after the battle at Shipwreck Cove. She had commanded them all to gather again to reissue pieces of eight – and this time they were _actual _pieces of eight – to be used as a means to link them all if the need so arose in the future. They had performed the ritual as described in the Pirate Codex and once again went on their separate ways. No contact surely meant no problems of import, and for that she was thankful. Still, she had been feeling uneasy the past few days, and she suspected that there was more to it than her traitorous stomach.

The uneasiness within her grew. She looked around to make sure none of her crew was watching her, thinking she was going to have to lean over the railing and relieve her stomach. But the nausea did not come. Still, she felt odd. The hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle, and goose bumps sprouted all over her arms. She shivered.

Then she heard it.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Elizabeth groped within her pocket, searching for the coin. She hoped that her ears deceived her, but she knew before her fingers closed around the piece of eight that they did not. She felt it in her very soul. The song had been sung.

"Huang!" she shouted, inwardly cursing the frantic tone of her voice.

The urgency was not missed by her first mate. "Captain Swann?" he queried, looking at her with concern.

"We must change course." She held up the piece of eight.

Huang was speechless for a moment, his jaw working soundlessly. "To Shipwreck Cove?" he finally managed.

Elizabeth almost assented, but something within her halted the words. Not to Shipwreck Cove. That wasn't right. When she realized where they were to go, her heart sank. She could hardly bare it.

"No," she murmured. She met his eyes then raised her voice to address the rest of the crew. "We make for Port Royal!"

…

**A/N: **So what did you guys think about Elizabeth's first appearance in my story? Or any other part of this chapter for that matter Review and let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Alright, guys, first of all I'm sorry this update has taken so long. I've been so unbelievably busy and also rather uninspired. Which brings me to my second of all: I'm not very happy with these next two chapters. Originally, I had intended to put this and the content in the next chapter into one, but it was becoming too long. Plus, I've just been so uninspired that it's taking me forever to wrap of the end of what is now going to be chapter eight. So in consideration of time and readability, I decided to split it into two chapters. Let me know what you think (good or bad). And I promise I have plans for this story, and I am trying very hard to move the plot along, so stick with me :)

**Chapter Seven**

It had been days since the hanging. James sighed and looked out his window at the afternoon sun in the clear blue sky. He was not yet used to this unending idleness, and he felt positively bored to tears. He had been on walk after walk and had perused most of the novels in his library to no avail. He wished to be doing something that had meaning, but he couldn't figure out what.

Eyes still on the tranquil sky outside, he absently touched the piece of eight where it now rested against his chest. When he had returned home that day, he couldn't feel comfortable leaving the coin to rest unwatched in his desk as he had originally planned. Nor could he keep it in his pocket, for he feared it would slip away. So he had made a small hole in the silver through which he threaded a very thin strip of leather that now hung around his neck. It rested just low enough on his breast where it would be concealed underneath his shirt, so he need not fear discovery. He couldn't say why he felt the need to keep the strange coin a secret, but he knew he must.

It was a strange piece of eight indeed. Its singing had quieted to a soft vibration now. Most of the time he couldn't even feel it, but if he remained perfectly still then he could feel the reverberations within his chest, humming to his very core. He still didn't know what it meant, but he felt a sense of foreboding. He had encountered the paranormal more times than he liked, and it somehow always started with some curious little incident just like this. The appearance of this piece of eight did not bode well for his quiet dreams of settling into a life of tranquility and solitude.

"Oh, Mr. Norrington, do look what the tailor's apprentice has just dropped off!" Alice scurried into the room, beaming with pleasure. Her arms were brimming with packages.

"Careful, Alice," he said, standing up to unburden her. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Nonsense! Don't fuss so." She swatted his hands away and began opening one of the parcels. "Ah, there! Aren't these lovely? I took the liberty of ordering some new clothes for you when you returned." She opened a small round package and lifted out a powdered wig that looked much like the one he had lost. "And won't you look dashing in this!"

He feigned offense. "I'm hurt. I thought you liked my hair."

Alice smiled sheepishly. "Ah, Mr. Norrington, you know I think you're a handsome man no matter what you wear, but it's not me you'll be wanting to impress. The ladies will find you very fetching in this."

"Will they?" he muttered absently. He cleared his throat. "I do appreciate you ordering the wig and new clothes. They were sorely needed. Although, I must say the eligible young ladies of Port Royal have not been foremost in my thoughts."

"No?" asked Alice with a disappointed frown. "Do none of the ladies take your fancy?"

For reasons unbeknownst to him, a picture of Rosalie Gillette – freckled skin and intelligent green eyes – arose in his mind. He blinked to dispel the vision. "No, Alice," he answered, "I can't say that they do."

"Such a pity," the old maid chided. "It would be nice to have another woman about the house."

James took a sip of his tea and forced a chuckle. "Are you and Nathaniel tiring of my company so soon?"

"Why, of course not, Mr. Norrington," she scoffed, unaware of the pain the conversation caused him. "'Tis a fact that I think of you as my own son, it is. It's just that a woman's touch about the place would be nice is all."

_Wouldn't it?_

…

Later that day, James sat with Phillip over a game of chess in his office. Unable to stomach another afternoon walking aimlessly about his estate, James had decided to brave the public and pay Phillip a visit at the fort.

"Lord Beckett will have my head if he sees that I have allowed you to tear me away from my paperwork," Phillip mumbled as he studied the chess pieces intensely, pondering his next move.

"If I recall correctly," James replied wryly, "you were gazing out the window like a dreamy schoolgirl, _not _attending to work of any kind. And you nearly jumped out of your skin when I opened the door, I might add."

"A _schoolgirl_?" Phillip gasped indignantly. Then he smiled as he moved his bishop to take one of James' pawns. "Check."

James bit back a chuckle. Phillip was not the most skilled chess player, despite what he may think.

Phillip's imminent doom was delayed when there was a brief knock, promptly followed by the door swinging open with a bang. Phillip rose from his chair so quickly that it almost toppled over, and an apology was on his lips before he realized the intruder was his sister. James couldn't help but notice the healthy flush to her cheeks and the shine of her red-gold locks. She looked lovely in a simple rose colored gown.

"Keep your trousers on, Phillip," she said with a grin as she closed the door behind her. "Were you expecting the King? It's only me."

James laughed heartily as Phillip breathed a sigh of relief and righted himself in his chair. "Don't come barging into my office again, Rose, or I'll…." He trailed off with a slight frown.

"What?" Rosalie taunted, her good-natured grin still in place. "You'll tell Mother?"

Phillip smirked. "I just might. I doubt she knows you are out gallivanting without a chaperone."

This seemed to sober her up a little. "I am far too old to need a chaperone." She sniffed daintily. Then she turned her attention to James as she strolled over to their table. "Mr. Norrington, it's a pleasure to see you as always." She breamed, and he couldn't help but he return her infectious smile.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Gillette," he returned after he had risen and offered her a bow. "I can always trust you to liven up your brother here."

James surprised himself by how easily he could fall into camaraderie with her. In fact, aside from his elderly house keepers, Phillip and Rosalie were the only company he could stand to keep since his return to Port Royal.

"I take offense to that remark," Phillip muttered. "It's your move, Mr. Norrington."

"Aren't you going to offer your sister a seat?" James prompted with a grin. He had grown accustomed to their sibling banter, and he knew this would spark another quarrel. Sure enough….

"You speak of her as if she were a true lady, James," Phillip mused without taking his eyes from the chess board.

"I'll have you know I am very much so a proper young lady," Rosalie replied, slightly ruffled.

"Tell me, James," Phillip addressed him, still wearing a smirk. "Would a young lady traipse around town on a horse – astride no doubt – _un-chaperoned_? I assure you my dear sister has not only done this today but will probably continue for many days to come."

"I don't know, Phillip," James replied thoughtfully, "I admire a lady with spirit." He looked at Rosalie as he stated this last and watched her blush shyly.

Phillip gaped at him, and James too was surprised by his own boldness. "So, Miss Gillette," he recovered, clearing his throat, "you like to ride?"

"Why, yes!" she answered excitedly, seeming to forget her embarrassment. "I absolutely love - !"

"The game, James!" Phillip interrupted agitatedly.

Rosalie and James rolled their eyes simultaneously then grinned when they realized it. "Do continue," she prompted. "Don't let me interrupt your game. I was simply bored at home and came to pay a sisterly visit."

"Thank you," Phillip growled. "Now – your move, James."

"Yes, yes." James had already contemplated his next move, and he promptly advanced his castle two spaces, blocking Phillip's assault on his king.

"Oh." Phillip looked surprised and a little disappointed. "Well, my move then."

Rosalie had drifted closer to their table. James could smell the light lavender scent she wore. "He's got you in two turns, Phillip," she observed after studying the board for only a moment.

James barked a laugh of surprise. It was true.

"What? Where?" Phillip exclaimed.

"I'll never tell," she taunted.

He glared at each of them in turn. "I see it," he lied. "He doesn't have me yet." James rolled his eyes, and Rosalie must have seen him because he heard her giggle. "Well, he doesn't!" Phillip continued to protest.

"Of course I don't," James said. "Now, if you please, it is your move."

Phillip continued to glare at the board. He bit his lip and reached for one of his pieces… then withdrew his hand. He picked up another piece, only to put it down and withdraw his hand again.

"Oh, come on, Phillip," Rosalie sighed after about ten minutes of silent contemplation. "Just make a move already!"

Phillip slammed a pawn into place so hard that the whole board shook. "Fine," he grated out, "if you're such an expert chess player, why don't you play him, Rose?" He stood and with an exaggerated bow offered Rosalie his seat.

She looked taken aback. James raised one eyebrow and gave her a challenging look. "Well, Miss Gillette?" He was already putting the pieces in their rightful places on the board, ready to start a new game.

Rosalie grinned at him and moved to take her seat. "I suppose one game couldn't hurt."

…

Rosalie watched James as he studied the chess board. He was clean shaven and wore a powdered wig, but she still found him very handsome. His dark eyebrows were drawn down in concentration, and he wore a slight, but not unbecoming, frown as he pondered his next move. Phillip had long since left off watching their game and had returned to his desk. The room was silent apart from the rustle of Phillip's papers and the sound of the waves as they hit the beach outside.

She couldn't help but smile as she watched one corner of his mouth draw up into his familiar smirk. He carefully placed one of his pieces. Rosalie schooled her expression into one of calm interest as he looked up at her. "I do believe I have you now, Miss Gillette," he quipped. "Although you are a far more skilled opponent than your brother."

"I can still hear you," Phillip muttered from his desk without looking up from his paperwork.

James laughed, but Rosalie looked away, blushing. _I have you now, Miss Gillette_. She chuckled nervously. "Yes, well, someone had to get the brains in the family." She studied the board. "You're lucky I arrived when I did or you might've been stuck with him." She blocked his attack on her king with one of her bishops then looked up at him with a smug grin.

"Excuse me!" Phillip blustered from his seat. "I do not appreciate being discussed as if I were not even in the room." He added as an afterthought, "And I'll have you know I got plenty of brains. Thank you very much."

"Calm down, Phillip," James scoffed. "You know I appreciate your friendship."

"I'm afraid my dear brother is jealous," Rosalie taunted, smiling teasingly at Phillip. He rolled his eyes.

James scoffed. "There's certainly no need to be jealous. You two are the only citizens in Port Royal who don't mind being seen with me since my resignation – aside from my house servants."

"I'm not jealous," Phillip insisted. "I'm a grown man, not a toddler. I can share my friends. I simply do not enjoy being called daft by said friend."

"Of course you're smart!" Rosalie said with an exaggeratingly soothing voice before turning back to James and the chess board. She rolled her eyes and giggled quietly.

"I have an idea," James interjected before Phillip could make a reply that would start another sibling tirade. "I would be honored to have you _both_ as guests for dinner at my house tonight. I don't regret my choice to resign my commission, but I have had a hard time becoming accustomed to the great amount of free time I now have on my hands."

"That sounds lovely!" Rosalie failed to keep the excitement from her voice. She felt her heart pick up its pace slightly. "Doesn't it, Phillip?" She wiped small beads of perspiration off her hands onto her gown. So far, she had only seen James by chance, and he had always been polite to her. More recently he had been increasingly amiable, and she noticed that he seemed to enjoy her company. Still, this sudden invitation took her by surprise.

"Certainly," Phillip replied. "And I'm sure you would appreciate having dinner with someone besides Mother or Isabel."

"Oh, would I ever!" she exclaimed. She smiled fondly at James. "I do appreciate you inviting me – I mean _us. _It will be very nice to get out of Mother's house for an evening."

"The pleasure is mine," James returned. She noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled pleasantly when he smiled, and she felt her heart flutter again. "Now if I can just best you in this game," he continued slyly, "I can go home and began preparations for this evening."

Rosalie watched as he pondered his next move, deft fingers hovering over the ebony pieces. Her heart was still turning somersaults in her chest for the excitement of having dinner with him that night.

_What am I doing? _She thought to herself. _I can't act like a besotted little girl over one dinner invitation! Besides, he probably only invited me to be polite. After all, we don't know each other very well._

She cleared her throat and tried to regain a cool expression. She knew she must have been blushing furiously. She couldn't count how many times she had wished she could hide her emotions better.

"There you are, Miss Gillette." James' deep, sultry voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at his gray-green eyes and his triumphant smirk. "I'd like to see you get out of that."

He had her trapped three ways. The game was forfeit. "Touché, Mr. Norrington," she conceded. "It would seem that I am… at your mercy." Her voice faltered as she uttered these last few words, and she realized just how true they were. She nervously tucked a strand of her behind her ear.

James smiled at her, and Rosalie felt as if she were the only other person in the world. "You are a very worthy adversary," he said. "I do enjoy a challenge. Maybe we could…."

But the door slammed open and cut him off. Bartholomew Beckett strode into the room without knocking. Rosalie instantly felt the office grow chillier. She looked at James and saw an expression of such intense hatred in his eyes that she shivered.

Beckett raised his eyebrows coolly when he had surveyed the room and its occupants. "Ah, if I had known you would be hosting a party in your office, Admiral Gillette, I would have requested an invitation."

Before Phillip could reply, James pushed back his chair and stood. "I believe I will take my leave now, Phillip." He turned to Rosalie, and she stood, knocking over a few of the chess pieces in her anxiousness. She was dimly aware of Beckett's scrutinizing eyes on her. "Miss Gillette," James continued, "it has been a pleasure, as always." He took her hand, and after what seemed to be a moment of indecision, he softly kissed the skin just above her knuckles.

Rosalie could barely breathe, much less form a coherent response. But she finally managed to swallow and reply. "Thank you, Mr. Norrington," she breathed. "I – I look forward to joining you for dinner this evening."

James bowed to her and her brother as if no one else was in the room and walked out the door. He never once looked at Beckett or acknowledged his presence with more than the dark expression Rosalie had glimpse when Beckett first entered the office. But the door slammed shut behind him a little too loudly for anyone to doubt the insult.

"I apologize, Lord Beckett," Phillip began, wringing his hands. Rosalie felt a pang of genuine sympathy for her brother. He tried to be commanding and formidable, but at times like these he seemed like no more than a young boy hopelessly seeking the approval of a superior. He was so unsure in his new position and so fearful of not living up to expectations. She frowned at Beckett. _How dare he bluster in here and try to intimidate him so!_

"Don't bother, Gillette," Beckett interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I won't tell you that you can't entertain guests in your office. Though, it goes without saying that if your duties aren't completed first…." He trailed off with what Rosalie supposed was meant to be a menacing tone. She turned her face away from him and rolled her eyes.

"Of course!" Phillip exclaimed, fumbling with the papers on his desk. A few fluttered to the floor, and he knocked his quill across the desk in his nervousness. "Of course, sir, I assure you, I have attended to all my duties."

"Very good." Beckett smirked. Rosalie couldn't help but notice how much less pleasant the expression was on him compared to James. It was a completely different attitude. Beckett's was all arrogance and pomp, but there was something more likeable, even endearing about the way James did it. "I know this endless shuffling of papers and deskwork must be boring you to tears," Beckett continued, his mood seeming to improve a little. He smiled secretively. "But I assure you, things shall be livening up quite a bit very soon. I have it on good authority that our pirate friends may be on the move, and we will be ready to foil any unsavory plans they might have." His eyes took on a feverish gleam in his zeal. "But perhaps," he went on, cooling again, "we shouldn't speak of such things in mixed company." Phillip didn't protest, and Beckett turned to her. "Miss Gillette, how are you doing this afternoon?"

_So nice of you to notice me, _she thought sarcastically. "Very well," she replied tersely. She was still standing from where she had bid James farewell, and she stepped towards the door. She didn't know how much interest Beckett would take in her, but she didn't want to be trapped in conversation with him when all she really wanted to do was go home and think about the upcoming evening. "But it is growing late, and I do believe I should be getting home." She increased her pace, making sure to give him a wide berth as she passed.

"Oh!" He grabbed her wrist despite her attempts and stayed her effort to escape.  
>"Miss Gillette, before you go – and I think your brother should take notice of this as well – people of your station and upstanding reputation in the community would do well to steer clear of the likes of <em>Mr. <em>Norrington." He stressed the "Mr." with a sneer full of contempt. Rosalie could barely keep from glaring, and she felt her cheeks and ears heating up with a flush. "Let's just say that it would not bode well for you – for _either _of you – if you continue your friendship with him."

Rosalie jerked her wrist from his grasp maybe a little too harshly. "I appreciate your advice, Lord Beckett," she grated out, "but it won't be necessary. I am fully capable of seeing to my own wellbeing." She bared her teeth in what she hoped passed for a smile.

"We shall see," Beckett mused coolly, studying her with an icy expression. "Very well, you may go." He turned away from her without another word.

Rosalie stood by the door, fists clenched at her sides. She could feel her nails etching angry marks into her palms. _How dare he speak to me that way?_ She caught Phillip's eye where he still stood at his desk. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. _"Don't." _She read the plea in his look. If she unleashed the fury she felt on Beckett, she knew it could mean the end of her brother's position as admiral. She also knew how much her brother's commission meant to him. Biting her lip to hold back her tirade, she turned and strode out the door.

…

James made his way back to his home at a leisurely pace. It was hot, as it usually was in Port Royal, but the breeze coming off the sea made for a pleasant day. He thought it was a nice time for a quiet stroll alone with his thoughts. Despite Beckett's intrusion, he had retained his favorable mood and was anxiously looking forward to his dinner engagement. Although Phillip had overtaken the position of admiral and was sure to become Beckett's right hand man in Port Royal, he did not seem as caught up in the zeal for pirate chasing and bloodlust as his superior. In fact, when James himself had been Phillip's commander, he had followed orders as well as any other man, but it had not been his passion. And Rosalie had shown only poorly concealed distaste for Beckett and his plans since the hanging. So James knew he would not have to spend the evening discussing how competent a leader Beckett was or his "noble cause."

He thought about Rosalie then, not for the first time since he had left her. He had surprised himself by how much he enjoyed her company that afternoon. Their chess game had lasted a long while, but he had been so engrossed in not only the game but also her clever quips and stimulating conversation that he had not even noticed. She was indeed an interesting young woman. If he was being completely honest with himself, he had to admit that seeing Rosalie again was what he was looking forward to most about the evening.

Alice would certainly be pleased. Of course, Phillip's attendance at dinner would be of no surprise to her. He had had Phillip and Groves and other men he served with over for drinks on occasion, but a female guest in the house was rare if not unheard of. Rosalie's presence would send her into a flurry of excitement and anxiousness. He knew he had better get home quickly to prepare her. The old servant was bound to box his ears anyway for springing a dinner party on her so suddenly. The anticipated presence of a lady would only make her worse. He grinned wryly to himself.

As James continued up the lane towards his home, there was a new lightness in his steps that hadn't been present since _long_ before his return to Port Royal.

**A/N: **Chapter eight should be out very soon since it is already nearly completed, so keep your eyes open! And as always, read and reveal!


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